A Strange and Unforgiving World
by Jenny T
Summary: AU. Contains strange pairings and much nastyness. Don't say I didn't warn you... Plus two words 'Evil Ororo'
1. Prologue

Disclaimer:   I don't own the X-Men.  If I did, the main focus of every comic episode would be Ororo and Logan shagging, interrupted only occasionally by an actual plot.

Warning: This is serious AU, which deals with issues of death, dominance/submission relationships, and torture.  There will be quite a bit of violence, but no graphic sex 'cos I suck at writing it.  There is also some mild slash, but frankly, that's not what you should be worried about.  Hence the R rating – kiddies, this is your last warning.  I don't want your folks suing me for corrupting your innocent little minds.

Major points of history changed: No Weapon X project.  Logan has all his memories (including some he'd rather forget), but no adamantium.  Xavier and Magneto are a couple, and run the Xavier-Lensheer Institute for the Gifted.  Their students/X-Men are Jean, Remy, Hank, Bobby, Kitty and Jubilee.  Where are the others?... You'll see… (evil grin)

Prologue:

Somewhere in Acadia, 1676.

Logan deChasseur waited anxiously for his father to come back from the hunt.  He paced endlessly outside the little hut he and his parents called home.  He was almost thirteen now, and soon he'd be allowed to join the ranks of the men.  For the meantime, he was trying to avoid the chores his mother doled out – collecting firewood, or getting water from the river.  Let his little brothers do that.  Kids work.

There were twenty or so similar wooden shacks along this stretch of the river – fairly close to a main road, although visitors were rare.  There were a fair few children his age – he'd liked Appoline LeBeau best, but she'd left with her parents, on their way south.  They'd left behind her grandfather, Jean Baptiste LeBeau, who was the one coughing his guts out at the end hut and yelling at his mother between fits.

"Get away from me, halfbreed!  I don't need none of your MicMac nonsense!"

Logan's mother, Genevieve deChasseur, was half Mi'kmaq.  Sometimes his grandmother would come and visit.  She called his mother 'Bright Dove', and gave him the name 'Wolverine', spoken softly in her native tongue.  She told him it was a strong name, a hunters name.  Most of the families around didn't mind that his Grandmother was MicMac – people were sparsely spread, and men, it was understood, got lonely.  But Old Man LeBeau was just mean.

Never mind.  If he didn't let Mama give him the medicine, he'd cough himself to death, and that was just fine by Logan.  Right now, he had more important things on his mind – he could hear, just barely, the sound of horses hooves, thudding against the moist dirt.  Sometimes he'd tell Mama when they were coming – she just looked at him, unbelieving, and from time to time, Mrs Marcheur would overhear, and laugh, rocking her youngest son.

"That boy of yours got good hearing, Genevieve.  Guess it's his native blood!"

And lately, his hearing just got better and better.

 As soon as the horses were visible, he ran to his fathers side.  They had a few rabbits, but the LeBlanc boys were also carrying a deer between them, thin from the winter, but still good eating.  He ran up to the side of his fathers horse, like he always did – but then a wolf, closer to the settlement than usual, howled, long and loud.  Most of the horses shifted a little, but his fathers, perhaps confused by the small shape running at it, reared up – one deadly hoof coming down upon his skull.

Lazare deChasseur leapt off his horse, cradling his eldest sons still body to him.  A circle of people quickly surrounded them, Genevieve running to his side.  Then the boys eyelids fluttered and he awoke.

"Papa?"

"Hush, son"

 Lazare turned him to look at the wound that until recently had gaped in the back of Logan's head – as evidenced by the blood on his shirt, and the crowd gasped.

The wound was already almost healed, the flesh knitting itself back together, the new skin bright and pink as if nothing had happened.

"Diable…" someone hissed – perhaps Rene Marcheur?  It scarcely mattered at this point.  Many made the sign of the cross; suddenly, a cracked voice wheezed:

"Well what do you expect from the son of a half breed?"  Old Man LeBeau grinned.  "Heathens, all of them.  Marked by the devil!".  He gestured to Genevieve and her son.

"You don't talk that way about Mama!" Logan yelled, jumping up from his fathers arms.  He didn't understand quite what the fuss was about – sure, the horse had kicked him, but it mustn't have been too bad or he'd be dead.  Just lucky, that was all.

  
Why was everyone staring at him?

And why were even his parents backing away?

Why did his knuckles suddenly hurt, a pain like the slice of a knife?

A/N:  The area I refer to as Acadia is present day Nova Scotia/New Brunswick.  The Mi'kmaq were one of the native peoples in the area at the time.

Tell me if you think I should continue this one… trust me, it's only going to get stranger…


	2. Chapter One Welcome to the Sisterhood

Disclaimer: I don't own them, not even the strange AU versions I've cooked up.

Charles Xavier frowned, looking at the letter.  Warren Worthington the Third's official withdrawal of all funding to the Xavier-Lensheer Institute for the Gifted.  Beside him lay the social pages of yesterdays newspaper, noting that Warren Worthington had announced that he was selling up his share of Worthington Industries, and retiring from public life.

Eric entered the room quietly, sighing when he saw what Charles was looking at.

"Charles, don't worry.  We'll find other sources of funding."

"It's not that." said Charles, "This is most unlike Warren."

Magneto shrugged, settling into a chair.  "You think the MBA might have something to do with this?"

"They have been stepping up their activities of late.

"But that's no reason to see their hand in everything.  My love, you are jumping at shadows."

"Professor Xavier!  Professor Lensheer!"

Jean ran into the room, waving a paper.  One of those trashy tabloids, if Eric was any judge.

On the third page, was a large colour photo, showing Warren Worthington the Third, reclusive millionaire, caught out shopping with his 'lady love'.

Magneto frowned.  "I thought he broke up with that Betsey woman."

"That's not what caught my eye." said Charles pointing to the upper left corner of the photo.  A little blurry, but clearly visible: two women, one with hair of pure white, the other with dark hair with one white streak.

"Storm and The Rogue." hissed Eric.

"Still think I'm jumping at shadows, love?"

"Attention!" said the form of Warren Worthington III, before it morphed back into the natural blue form of Mystique.  "This meeting of the Mutie Bitches of America is hereby called into order!"

There were catcalls and whistles from the three other woman, sitting around a table in the mansion newly acquired with Mr Worthington's money.

"Or possibly disorder!"

Laughter.

"I would just like to welcome Psylocke to the Sisterhood."

"Hear, hear!" yelled Storm, her kitten sitting by her feet.  Kitten just growled.

"And say a fond goodbye to Mr Worthington here."

"Yeah, thanks for the cash, Sugah."

Mystique snorted at her adopted daughters comment, before beckoning to Betsey.

"Come on, honey."

Storm and Rogue stamped their feet and cheered, as Betsey clambered up to join Mystique.  She took a long look at the bound and gagged form of Warren, before conjuring up a couple of psychic knives.

"Now, I know this is your first kill." breathed Mystique, wrapping a friendly arm around Psylocke.  "But there's no need to be afraid."  
 "I am not afraid." replied Betsey.  Warrens body jerked a few times, and then was still.  A little blood leaked from around the gag, as well as from the deep wounds in his chest.

Storm and Rogue cheered again, Rogue leaping up from the table to fly Betsey round the room, before landing her back in her seat.

"And you know, Sugah, it just gets easier every time."

Jean shook her head, sadly, and hung up the phone.

"Warren hasn't been in touch with any of his friends or relatives.  He's sold all of his property, and transferred the money into other accounts."

"Den we can assume" said Remy, tapping the newspaper, "Dat dis is Mystique, and dat Betsey is in league wit de bitches?"

"I think we must assume the worst." said Xavier.  "We need to find out what they're up to."  
Eric looked up, concern in his eyes.  "If they are recruiting, then we could be in trouble.  We need to be able to match them in a battle.  Now they have their hands on Angel's money, there is no telling what they might be capable of."

"Do you think Warren's dead?" asked Jean, her lip trembling.

"Most probably." said Xavier.

There was a moment of silence, Remy leaning over to comfort Jean.

"What are you thinking about?" Charles asked Eric.  "I know that look on your face – you have an idea."

Magneto nodded.  "If it's firepower we need – well, I once met a man who might be able to help."

Logan emerged from the forest, dragging the deer behind him.  It would do both of them for tonight, and he could dry some of the meat.  Winter would be coming up soon, and he'd need enough for both him and the kid.

Speaking of the kid…

There was a quiet bamf, and Kurt leaped towards him.  Without even looking, Wolverine caught him in one hand.

"Damn.  Thought I had you there!"

He chuckled.  "Maybe next time, kid."

He'd been wandering through Europe a couple years ago, and found himself in a little monastery in the Black Forest.  Every now and again he needed a bit of peace and quiet.  Just before he'd left, the head monk had led him up to the belfry.

"The child cannot stay here, you understand?  He is a good child, but this is not the right place for him.  We are men of God, and this child…  He is a good child, but he cannot stay here."

When he'd laid eyes on Kurt, he'd 'understood' alright.  He'd understood with a clarity that made him want to gut the hypocrite standing next to him.  The boy was skinny, but smelt healthy enough.

_~Diable…~_

How many times had he heard that word, in as many languages as there existed.  Devil, monster, beast.  And maybe he'd earned some of that in his long life, but this kid sure as hell hadn't.

He'd tossed the boy over his shoulder, wrapped in a too-big cassock.

Since then, Kurt had become both a welcome attraction, and infinite annoyance.

"We having deer for supper again?"

"Ya want to catch something else, go right ahead."

Kurt mumbled something in German.

"I heard that, and I speak German, too.  Help me with this damn thing, already."

A/N: Should I continue this insanity, or let it die a natural death?  Should I refer to the girls as the MBA (which phrase keeps making me giggle), or stick to the Sisterhood?  Review!

Next up:  The X-Men track down Wolverine, and the Sisterhood get up to more dirty tricks – the identity of Kitten is revealed, and Psylocke acquires a pet of her very own.


	3. Chapter Two Many Meetings

Disclaimer: Not mine, not mine, not mine.

Mystique smiled to herself as she sorted through the papers.  Worthington had had some substantial holdings all over the world, and now they belonged to her and her 'family'.  Buying this place had barely scratched the surface.  With this sort of money, they could acquire some serious firepower.  After all, what else were they going to spend the money on, clothes?

She laughed at that thought.  She didn't need clothing, Storm spent most of her time naked, it being more 'natural', and could only be occasionally coaxed into skimpy dresses.  Psylocke, once a model, now preferred the comfort of old jeans, and the only thing her daughter ever spent money on was fine leather gloves – although she was just as likely to steal them as buy them.

Speaking of Rogue, where was she?  Betsey and Ororo were sitting out on the balcony.  Kitten, as always, was at Storm's feet.  Raven didn't particularly approve of Storms 'pet', but they'd come as a pair, and she was too powerful to turn away.  Storm, more than any of them, particularly enjoyed the inflicting of pain: better she take it out on Sabertooth than random strangers.  The Sisterhood didn't need to bring attention to itself in that way – not yet, at any rate.

Betsey's fascination with Kitten was also beginning to worry her.  One important thing to know about Storm - she didn't share well.  Last thing she needed was the Windrider frying her new telepath.

Rogue better not be out making trouble.  Mystique had plans; and they didn't include the blasted X-Men tracking down their hideout before everything was ready.

"Ahm home!  Miss me, y'all?"

Ah, there was her erstwhile daughter.  But who was the scrawny fellow she dragged in with her?

"Rogue, what the hell is that?"

"Calm down, Momma.  Ah know Stormy won't share, so Ah brought Betsey a pet of her very own."

She threw the boy into the centre of the room.

"Looks like a bag of bones to me." commented Storm.  "You're going to have to feed him up, Bets, although personally I find starvation a _wonderful training tool."_

Kitten growled, and she absentmindedly kicked him.

Betsey stepped forward, cautiously.

"But ya aint seen nothing yet!"  Rogue took her captives head in her hands, facing him away from the rest of the Sisterhood.

"Open your eyes, Sugah.  Ah don't want to hurt ya again."

The boy shivered, keeping his eyes tightly closed.

Rogue took one of his hands into her own gloved ones.  There was a sharp crack that resonated through the room, and the boy cried out.

"Ah lied.  Ah rather enjoyed that, actually.  Open your eyes, or Ah'll snap your scrawny neck and find Betsey another plaything."

His eyelids barely fluttered open then shut again, but it was long enough for the red beams to emerge, burning a rather impressive hole in the wall Rogue had pointed him at.

Betsey came forward to examine her new 'toy'.  The boy was thin, although not quite a 'bag of bones' as Storm had described him.  Probably been living on the streets for quite a while.  She felt a sudden pang of pity, and quickly pushed it away.  Pity was not an emotion given high regard within the Sisterhood.

"He have a name?" she asked Rogue.

Rogue shrugged.  "Does it matter?"

"My n-name is Sc-Scott." stuttered the boy.

And now they were all looking at her again, expectant, like before she'd killed Warren.  Another test.  Some days it seemed like everything they did or said was part of one of their tests.

Well, what was she going to do, give up the acceptance she'd found here for some scrawny boy?  She backhanded him, sending him sprawling.

"Rule number one, boy.  You don't talk unless I say you can."

Approval in their faces now, especially Storm.

"I always liked that rule." said the Windrider.

"Whatcha gonna call him, then?" asked Rogue, as if the boy didn't already have a name.

Betsey shrugged.  "I guess if Storm's is Kitten, then mine should be Puppy." She sniffed.    
 "He stinks, Rogue.  Where'd you find him, a rubbish tip?"

Rogue laughed.  "Close."

"We better hose him down, then."

They took him out to the garden, where he tried to hide in one corner as Betsey aimed the hose at him, to no avail.  Wrapped only in an old blanket Mystique had found somewhere, Storm suggested they lock him in one of the closets, to keep him out of the way for the night.

As the door swung closed, Betsey felt another pang at the sight of his upturned face, confused and hurt.  Warren had been different.  Warren had hurt her, betrayed her.  Puppy had done nothing to her.

But then the girls pulled her away to their Friday night poker game, and surrounded in their love, the worry over Puppy soon faded.  What did the fate of one boy matter?  He probably would have died pretty soon anyway, out by himself on the streets.

The Sisterhood were her family now.  They'd given her everything she could ever want, and she would let nothing get in the way of that.

Not even a skinny little boy with brown hair and the face of a fallen angel.

Kurt lay back in the cabin that had been home for the last year, examining the calendar.  Five days were already marked in red, and he added a sixth cross for this morning.

Every now and again, Logan would go a bit funny, and head off into the woods.  The first time he'd done it, Kurt had gone looking for him.

He had a six-inch scar down one side as a reminder not to do that again.  His friend had gruffly apologized, and then explained what he was supposed to do: keep track of the days, so Logan knew what the date was when he 'came out of it', and keep the hell away.

Only once since then had he returned to where they were staying – Kurt had had to bamf from treetop to treetop for hours, before the predator gave up and went off to chase easier prey.

Every time, he'd come back after two or three days, usually bringing some meat back with him, and looking tired.  Kurt would tell him the date, and they'd cook whatever he'd brought back in silence.  The next day, he'd be pretty much back to normal.

But this was almost a week, and Kurt was getting worried.  He knew that not much could hurt Logan, not for long, anyway; but still, he was tempted to go out and look for his friend, despite the tongue-lashing he would get afterwards.

The sudden noise of the jet startled him, and he quickly teleported out of the cabin, and into one of his hiding spots in the woods.

A small plane had landed in the clearing; five people emerged.  Two older men, one redheaded woman, one little Chinese girl, and a brunette man.

Kurt crept close to hear what they were saying.

"Looks as if he's been here recently." said one of the grey-haired ones.

The other nodded.  "I can sense a presence out in the woods; about two miles.  That could well be him."

"The ground seems fairly even; it shouldn't be too hard going." said the redhead.  "I don't like the idea of just waiting around with the jet right out in the open."

Well that was it.  Logan would never forgive him if he let these idiots go out there when he was… like he was.

Jean turned towards the forest, her mind already tracking the presence Professor Xavier had pointed out to her.  Remy and Jubilee followed behind; the Prof's were planning to stay by the jet, keeping watch.

Suddenly, there was a loud sound, and a cloud of acrid smoke appeared in front of her.

She gasped, as the smoke cleared, revealing the form of a… well, Jean could only call him a 'creature', although his mind appeared quite human.

"I wouldn't do that, if I were you."

"And why not?"

"Bad thinking, bad timing."  The blue creature shrugged.  "Just a bad idea altogether."

"Y' going t' give us a straight answer any time soon, Fuzzy?"

"My name is Kurt, and Ja, I can give you  a straight answer.  Go after him now, and I wouldn't bet on you being alive come dawn.  You can wait here till he comes back.  It will be safe then."

"And why is it not safe now?" asked Jean.

Kurt shrugged.  "Not for me to tell you.  He should be back in a couple of days.

Although written across his mind was _~He should have been back a couple days ago.~_

Wolverine loped in that night.  Kurt appeared beside him as he entered the clearing, most of a deer slung over one shoulder.  His little friend knew better then to ask what happened to the rest of it.

"We have guests."

"I know."  He sniffed the air.  "Friendly?"

"Seem to be.  Looking for you, I think, not me.  They seemed surprised to see me."

  
 "Yer a surprising fellow, Kurt."

The guests were clustered near the cabin, by a jet that must have been theirs.  Logan raised an eyebrow at the sight of that.  Not exactly standard issue, but not military, either.  And no military force he knew sent old men and children to deal with someone like him, either.  He relaxed slightly, although they could still be mutants, and therefore dangerous.  None of them looked out of the ordinary, although most days he passed for human, too.

One of the old men stepped forward, his face showing recognition.  His scent was vaguely familiar; a memory niggled at the back of his mind.

"You probably do not recognize me, but my name is Eric Lensheer.   We met a long time ago."

Ah, now he had the name, the rest was easy.  A skinny little kid he'd pulled out of the rubble of a concentration camp.  He nodded.

"I remember.  Whadda want?"

"I am sure you are aware of the current political situation." Eric continued.

Logan just grunted, but his eyes flickered to Kurt, one of the victims of the 'current political situation'

"These are my associates – Charles Xavier, Jean Grey, Remy LeBeau, and Jubilation Lee."

"Prof L, you _know I hate being called Jubilation!"_

Ignoring her, Eric continued.

"We have an offer to make."

A/N:  Review please!  Let me know if you like this/want it to continue/have something in particular you'd like to see in this series.  I will put in more backstory as it goes on and there are reasons for Storm/Rogue's weird/scary attitudes, trust me.  (Not excuses, but reasons.)


	4. Chapter Three Gifts and Questions

Disclaimer:  Not mine, yadda yadda yadda.  No sue.  Me no money have.

Scott Summers shivered, keeping one ear out for his current captors.  He'd been on the streets for years; in that time, he'd learnt a few things, and one of them was that a blind boy was at the bottom of the heap.  He'd made a mistake, speaking up, because usually women were more gentle.  These ones, though, were different.

He shrugged, trying to squeeze back further into the corner of the room.  What else was he going to do?  The last time he'd opened his eyes he'd been fourteen; at least, he was pretty sure he had been.  That time, he'd killed someone.  Since then, he'd accepted his lot in life; thought of it as a kind of punishment.

Betsey, the nice one who gave him food and protected him, had been gone a couple days;  since then, the others had only taken notice of him to kick him or yell at him.  Hence, the corner.  If he stayed still, maybe they wouldn't notice him.

One thing about being blind; it really was true that your other senses got better.  He heard her footsteps long before she entered the room.

"You get what you needed?"  

Scott smiled to hear her voice, replying to Mystique.  "Yes.  Tregorran is a horrible little man, but he seems to know what he is doing."

"One day I'm going to fry him."  The calm voice of the one they called Storm; she scared Scott the most of all.

"Not yet, Sugah.  He's still useful."

"I know that.  When he ceases to be useful, however, I'm going to fry him."

While Storm and Rogue bickered, Betsey's footsteps got nearer.

"I've got a present for you, Puppy."

A present?

Something slid around his head, smooth and cool, covering his eyes.

"I don't know why you're spending good money on the boy." said Storm in the background.

"He could be dangerous, left un-checked." replied Mystique.  "It's much better this way."

Betsey turned him again; he moved unresisting.

"Open your eyes, Puppy."

He shook his head a little; dangerous to disagree, but he couldn't risk hurting someone.

Storm tsked.  "Let me have five minutes with him; I'll beat some obedience into him."

Betsey's soothing hand traced its way down the back of his head.

"Trust me.  Open your eyes."

Everything was red.  The wall and the floor and the table and chairs.  Mystique and Rogue and Storm and Kitten were red.  And Betsey was red; and she was also very beautiful.  Tears crept down his cheeks.  He could see!  He knew better than to stand up or move from his position; so he just leaned against her leg, looked up and said.

"Thank you."

They ate lunch, and she gave him a few pieces of apple from her plate, as he sat by her side – he noticed with pride, that Kitten didn't get any food from Storm.  Obviously she cared for him more than Storm did for Kitten.  And when she wanted to test the other things; like the little remote she had that opened the visor to allow the beams out, he didn't complain.  He didn't even hesitate for a second.

As an expensive piece of artwork shattered into smoking pieces, the Sisterhood cheered.  That night, Scott got to sleep not in the closet, but right in Betsey's room, by her bed.  He even got his own blanket.  He was warmer and better fed then he had been in years; and on top of all that, she had given him his sight back.  He drifted off to sleep easily, safe in the knowledge that he would be taken care of; sure that he would never have to sin again.  Betsey was _nice; she'd never try to make him __hurt someone with his powers._

Never ever.

Kurt was perching; that was the only word for it; perching on the back of the couch watching Logan write his diary.

Wolverine had kept a diary for a couple hundred years; he didn't mind Kurt watching as there was no way he'd be able to understand it.  The words used were a mixture; quite a bit of French, Mi'kmaq, English, German, Arabic, Hindi, Japanese; the longest bit that was in one language at a time was a paragraph he'd written after Mariko's death; that was all in Japanese; although he'd done half of it in mirror writing.

He valued his privacy very highly, which was why the constant questions these 'X-Men' insisted on bombarding him with were so annoying.

The LeBeau boy was the worst of the lot; although his red-haired girlfriend encouraged him.  The only time he'd really talked to LeBeau was to ask him if he had a sister named Appoline; having thus thoroughly confused him, he ignored any questions the Cajun spouted.

It was a good thing Kurt knew how to keep his mouth shut; he'd told them how he'd met Wolverine, talked a bit about his life before that; but nothing else.  Just as well, he would have hated to have to gut the kid.

As he finished up his entry for the day; the red-head came up, peering over his shoulder.

"Why won't you tell us why you're staying with us?"

Logan slammed the diary shut, and glared at her.

"I already told ya, kid."  
  


She sniffed, tossing her hair over her shoulder.

" 'To piss off the White Queen' is not an answer!"

 He smirked.  "No, not really."  _Although it's true.__  Frost is going to shit a brick when she hears about this._

Realizing she was getting nowhere, the kid flounced off.

They were called into the 'war room' the next morning; there were three new faces; a slender brunette girl, a brown haired boy who sat in the corner whispering with Jubilee, and a blue furred creature who talked like an encyclopedia and seemed to be getting along well with Kurt, which put him in Logan's good books.

The professors explained, mostly for his benefit, the recent activities of the Sisterhood, ending with the suspected murder of Warren Worthington.

His heart leapt in his chest when they mentioned the shapeshifter.

"She calls herself Mystique," droned Eric, "but she also goes by the name Raven Darkholme, as well as several other pseudonyms."

There simply could not be that many shape-shifters going by the name of Raven.  So she was alive, then.

"Her adoptive daughter, Rogue, completes the Sisterhood.  Rouge's powers…"

"Her what?!" yelled Kurt, jumping up from his seat and snatching up the photo.  A string of impressive German curses, along with one or two Arabic terms he must have picked up from Logan, followed.

"What's the matter, kid?"

A tearful, garbled explanation in German followed;  then there was a *bamf*, and sulphur-scented smoke drifted through the room.

As Logan turned to leave, LeBeau's hand caught his arm.

"Hey, whats t' matter wit' 'im?"

He shook the Cajun away.

"The bitch is his mother." he summarized; then he stalked out of the room.

Kurt was on the roof; but hiding from someone with enhanced senses is of little use.

"Hey.  Ya alright, kid?"

A sulky shrug.  "Ja.  Wunderbar."

"Ya gonna sit up here all night?"

"Perhaps."

Wolverine just gave him a look; despite the tears running down his face, Kurt smiled.

"Nein, you're right.  I'd get hungry.  It's just…"

Logan took him in his arms, hushing him, trying to remember the songs Silver Fox had sung to their own children, so long ago.  But he never could sing, so he just rocked the boy.

"Hush, hush.  Gelasu, gwi's."

"What does that mean?" asked Kurt, his tears slowing.

"Nothing important.  Come on, lets feed you."

"As long as it's not deer!"

"Brat.  So what do ya think of this place, then?"

"Not bad.  We staying for a while?"

Logan shrugged and leapt off the roof, landing easily in the soft grass below.  After a second, Kurt joined him.

"For a while, kid.  For a while."

A/N:  Gelasu, gwi's is Mi'kmaq : translation; I love you, boy/son.  I'm writing Logan as a father figure to Kurt, so get your minds out of the gutter!  

Coming up next; more about Storm, Sinister gets into the action, and the X-Men and Sisterhood go head-to-head.


	5. Chapter Four Enter Sinister

Disclaimer:  I'm getting a little bored of saying this every time, but believe it or not, I don't own them.

Betsey sat at breakfast, drinking coffee, and feeding her croissant, piece by piece, to Puppy.  She'd never much liked breakfast; hell, she preferred to avoid mornings altogether.

Rogue was tucking into a full plate; she speared a sausage and leaned forward, apparently offering it to Puppy.  Maybe she was softening towards him.

No such luck.  As he reached out – after taking a quick glance at Psylocke to check it was alright to do so – she snatched it away, devouring it before him.

"That was not necessary, Rogue." she snapped.

She just smirked back.  "Ah reckon…"

"You'll reckon nothing.  He's mine, and I don't want you messing with him like that."

"Fine, fine."  Rogue snorted.  "Possessive bitch." she added, under her breath.

"Somebody mention me?" asked Storm, wandering past and picking up an apple.  She headed into the kitchen, Kitten following at her heels.  When she emerged again, she was holding the apple in her left hand, and a squirming rabbit in the other.  Kitten continued to lope behind, looking hopeful.

She released the rabbit, and he leapt after it.

Rogue giggled, as he tore into it.  "Gross.  At least Betsey's has _some table manners."_

Bobby slowly awoke.  There was a throbbing pain on the side of his head, probably a lump, but he couldn't check, because his hands were bond.  He turned his head, and saw the unconscious form of Kurt, and the awake and _very irritable looking Jubilee._

  
 "Psst, Bobby."

"Yeah?"  He was still kinda groggy.

"I can't Paf.  Like, everything's blocked up or something."

Bobby Drake frowned, then tried to use his own powers.  Nothing happened.

"What the?"

"I call it an inhibitor.  Simple little drug, personal invention of mine.  Quite effective, as you've already found."

They turned to stare at their captor.  Bobby gulped.  His eyes were pure red, and he smiled with a mouth full of jagged teeth.  Behind him lay a lab with what looked like a number of rather painful pieces of equipment, along with something that looked vaguely human, growing in a tank.  He heard Jubilee retch.

The man looked behind him, as if just realizing the tank was there.

"Oh that.  Just a clone.  Some of my Marauders can be _so careless.  I am Mr. Sinister.  Welcome to my laboratory."_

Kurt finally stirred, and spat out something in German.

"Yes, I suppose he will.  Actually, I rather hope your dear friend Wolverine comes along.  He'd make a very interesting test subject."

He turned to leave.

"The drug will wear off in a few hours; but by that point, it'll be the _least of your problems."_

Mystique wandered in, stepping delicately over the blood stain on the floor that was the remnants of Kittens last meal, and talking on the phone.

She hung up, and smiled at the assembled Sisterhood.

"It seems the esteemed Dr. Essex has set up another lab.  Obviously he has neglected to invite us to his opening night party, so we'll just have to invite ourselves."

Rogue grinned, and Betsey looked confused.

Storm's eyes turned white and she hissed.  "Sinister…"

She was trapped, trapped in a tiny little chamber, and she couldn't breathe.  Vaguely outside she could hear voices, but not what they were saying.  Another needle plunged into her side and she screamed.

But no one could hear.

The pain seemed to spread through her body, but with it came a new awareness.  He'd been changing her, she knew.  Now she seemed to understand how.  Her powers had always come from the sky; the rain, the wind, the lightning.  But he had funneled them _inside, and there was nothing that would stop her._

The lightning began to arc from hand to hand, and then burst out in all directions, shattering the chamber.  As Storm flew out through the roof, she heard the shout.

"Sabertooth, go after her!  And bring her back _alive."_

  
There was an eldritch scream, and lightning struck from Storms hand to yet another expensive (and now shattered) piece of art.

Mystique muttered something about "shouldn't have bothered to furnish the place", but quietly.  Storms eyes were still pure white; a deadly sign.

Rogue grinned.  "Let's pay Sinister a wee visit.  Ah was getting bored, anyway."

Remy and Jean assembled the team, watching Wolverine with some trepidation.  He was sitting in the Blackbird, waiting; popping his claws every few seconds.

Xavier relayed the co-ordinates from Cerebro to Jean, and the rescue mission was underway.

At first it seemed like it was going to be simple.  Jean located the captives with suspiciously little trouble, then Kitty phased through, emerging shortly afterwards with Jubilee.

When she phased back through, she was hit by a dart.

"Inhibitor." mused Sinister, watching the Marauders secure Shadowcat alongside her friends.  "I love that little drug."

"That's it." said Wolverine.  "We're not waiting any long; LeBeau, blow a hole in the damn wall or something."

He muttered under his breath, but let loose a couple of cards.  Wolverine tore through, gutting a marauder.  The X-Men faced up against Sinister and the Marauders; but their numbers were depleted; they were outnumbered.  Suddenly, the roof was ripped away, and Sinister was too busy dodging lightning strikes to do anything else; the Marauders, showing an excellent sense of self-preservation, disappeared into the shadows.

Beast was helping the captives back up to the Blackbird, leaving Wolverine, Gambit and Jean to deal with Mystique, Rogue and Betsey (Storm was still alternating between chasing Sinister and blowing holes in the lab).

Suddenly Mystique spoke.

"Hello, Grandfather.  It's so nice to see you again."

"I wish I could say the same, Raven." replied Wolverine.

"Our precious cargo is secure." said Beast, returning.  "I would suggest we make haste, before Storm decides the Blackbird would make an excellent target."   A clap of thunder punctuated his statement.

Wolverine nodded, and began to back away, with the others.

"This isn't over, darling." he said to Mystique.

Rogue snorted, and suddenly darted at them, grabbing Remy with her bare hands.  She floated above them, holding her unconscious captive triumphantly, although she was bleeding from the side – Logan had managed to catch her with his claws.

"You're right, Sugah!" she yelled.  "We're only just beginning."

 Betsey and Mystique disappeared after the airborne form of Rogue; Betsey flinging a couple of knives behind her.  Wolverine got a slash on his arm, which he ignored, but Jean took one right in the stomach.

"Leave them!" yelled Beast.  "We have to get Jean back to the mansion!"

Logan growled, but acquiesced.

"Remy…" whispered Jean.

"Sshh, Jean.  Try to rest." said Hank, as they carefully moved her to the Blackbird.  "We'll find him, I promise."

A/N:  Well?  Review!  I want 2000 reviews before the next chapter g Just kidding.  I'm going to inflict this piece of work upon the world whether you like it or not! (Muhahaha)

Next up:  Remy meets with Puppy, and oh yeah, there's the whole big rescue thing.  (Again.  Logan's going to get tired of helping rescue X-Men before long g).  And the whole 'grandfather' thing at least partially explained.  And other general insanity.


	6. Chapter Five Rescues and Raven

Disclaimer:  Yes, I own them all.  I bought them off Marvel for $3.50 and a piece of belly-button fluff. g  Then again, we have reality…

Logan dreamed, flashes of memory.

Pacing while his daughter gave birth; labor was a 'woman thing', and he wouldn't have gone in there even if Silver Fox had let him.  Fox coming out to tell him; he'd already known, the scent of his daughter had changed, faded.  The child in her arms - his grand-daughter, blue skinned and yellow eyed, her visage suddenly changing into a dark-haired little girl.  His little Raven.

Raven at thirteen – "Look, Grandpa!", climbing the highest tree and then shifting into the form of a bird, swooping down.  Always telling her off – she was never careful enough.  Hunting with Raven in the shape of a wolf; her sense of smell in that form as good as his own.

Angry Raven, later on.  Angry because she was never allowed to go anywhere, because he feared for her.  Screaming fights and tempers flaring on both sides; Silver Fox, the white creeping into her hair, nursing another headache and telling him his grand-daughter took after him.

The world changing around him.  Fox getting older, and he just wasn't.  Still the strongest, if not the fastest.  Still the one who people spoke of, when a good tracker was needed.  And the white in Fox's hair kept creeping on.

He didn't remember what had started the fight; but at some point she screamed something about him wishing she'd never been born and he'd replied, quite calmly.

"Maybe.  If you weren't born, your mother would still be alive."

Leaving, hunting.  Immersing himself in the smell of the woods and the joy of the chase.  And when he returned, the world had changed again.  Fox and Raven were dead, they told him.  Drowned in a flash flood on the Miramachi.  And now she was back; taunting him.  He would swear she had something to do with his wife's death – and if that was true, then family or no, he'd gut the little bitch.

Kitty poked her head into the Med-lab – through the wall.

"Ah, my intangible friend.  I see the effect of Sinister's unethical medication has reversed itself?"

Shadowcat smiled.  Hank and her were old friends – they'd been recruited at about the same time; her, from her home, with her understanding but unable to cope parents – her mother sent her fifty dollars and a card for her birthday and Christmas and that was about it – him, found by Xavier running from yet another mob.  They'd bonded over coffee and complaints about Jean – sure, she was nice, just a little uptight.  And if dating Remy couldn't even fix that...

"I'm all better, Hank.  How is Jean?"

He frowned.  "She lost a significant amount of blood; luckily no major damage was done.  I am sure our telepathic friend will be up and around and giving bossy orders in no time."

Kitty laughed at that.  "Perhaps it's better she doesn't come along for this mission – I don't know that she could cope with seeing Remy hurt"

"And given the numerous times you have suggested that you – ah – 'push his ass into a wall and leave it there' – I would suggest that you do not share her concern."

"Hank!  I like Remy, he's a friend.  An irritating friend, but a friend.  Jean loves him – it's different."

"Whatever you say, Kitty"

"I am so going to hide your Twinkies!" she screeched in return.

"Hush, Shadowcat.  Jean still requires rest.  Let me know when the Professor locates our Cajun team-mate."

Muttering something about unflappable blue geniuses, Kitty disappeared back out through the wall.

Mystique and Rogue sat watching a late-night movie.  Rogue picked up a piece of popcorn, watching it glow, then threw it into the air, where it exploded.

"Ah love this power" she said, grinning.

"How is your side?" asked her mother.

"Oh, fine.  He barely grazed it."

"I'm very proud of you, by the way.  You showed a lot of courage in the battle."

"Thanks Momma."  She leaned her head against Mystiques shoulder, which was covered by a blanket.  Little rituals, ones they'd had since she'd been a young teen and Raven had taken her in.

"Love ya, Momma."

"I love you too, Rogue."

Remy woke up, and groaned.  He felt like a truck had hit him.  _~Yeah, and it had __Mississippi__ license plates.~_

His arms were chained so that he couldn't reach anything to charge – but his legs were free.  Mebbe he could kick something up, catch it, charge it up, and use _that to free himself._

Only problem with that elaborate scheme was that the floor of the room he was in was smooth and unremarkable; there wasn't anything at all that he could see, not even so much as a pebble.  _~Merde.~_

Alright then.  It wasn't as if he hadn't been in bad situations before – trouble with the Thieves Guild, that whole bunch of shit he'd gone through with Sinister, Jean with PMS – he usually managed to find his way, through skill, luck, or charm, out of most problems.

Suddenly the door creaked, and a boy crept in with a glass of water.  Looking closer, Remy could see that 'boy' wasn't quite the right word – he was probably seventeen or eighteen, which made him close to the ages of most of the X-Men; hell, Jubes went on missions and she was only fifteen.  He was skinny, though, which made him look younger – he wore only a pair of trousers laced with holes, and Remy could see not only his ribs, but a number of bruises, some older, some new and fresh.  He also wore some kind of device 'round his head; it was unsettling, because it made it impossible to see his eyes properly.

He held the glass out, and Remy drank gratefully, wondering what the hell the boy was doing here.  Another captive?  If so, why was he apparently roaming around freely?

"T'anks, homme.  Y' want t' tell Remy y' name?"

The boy shook his head, placed one finger to his lips.

"Can Remy have a little more water, den?"

He nodded, and held out the glass once more.

"Why y' got dat t'ing round y' head?"

"I… I have to.  It's too dangerous without it."  The boy looked around, suddenly scared.  "Please don't talk anymore.  You'll get me in trouble."

"Y' not allowed t' talk?"

Silence was his reply.

"Remy t'ink y' already in trouble.  Dey been hitting y'?"

"Only if I'm bad.  Please don't talk anymore…"

"Oui, oui, Remy get y' in trouble, he know.  Y' don't look like much t' Remy.  He can't imagine what y' do dat so wrong."

"Can you keep a secret?"  The boys voice wavered.

"Sure."

The throbbing in his head was forgotten as Scott explained his past.  Sacre bleu, the boy had been through more on the street than even Remy had; and he thought he had a pretty impressive record.  Impulsively, he decided he was not getting out of here without taking Scott with him.

"Y' maybe able t' get Remy loose?  He take y' away from here, t' a good place.  No one hit y' dere, Scott."

Scott looked uncertain.  "I don't think Betsey would like that."

Oh, for crying out loud.  He was about to lose his temper and start yelling at the idiot, when suddenly Scott crumpled to the ground, revealing the form of Betsey behind him.

"I do not appreciate you trying to corrupt my Puppy, Gambit." she said, kicking Scott in the stomach.  "He's been very good lately, and then you come along…" she stalked towards him, giving Scott the chance to scramble away to the corner.

"Y' damn bitch, Psylocke.  Remy don' know what y' do t' de boy, but he gonna…"

"He is going to do nothing, X-Man."  Remy felt a sudden pain and then blood running down his cheek.  "Rogue does not have all that much patience.  She will play with you, for a while, and then kill you."

Suddenly Betsey's head turned, hearing what all of them were; the sound of thunder, and the screaming of a pissed-off Goddess.

"We will continue this conversation later." she said, dragging Scott bodily out of the room behind her.

Storm screeched, letting off another bolt in the direction of what had been a table; now a twisted smoldering piece of metal surrounded by smoking pieces of wood.

The other members of the Sisterhood had disappeared; let it never be said her sisters were stupid.  And Kitten had been left behind; no doubt he'd be back before morning, but having nothing but inanimate objects to take her anger out on was pissing her off.

Sinister had got away, the bastard.  He'd disappeared down a hole, knowing she couldn't follow – although she'd sent Kitten down after him, the mere thought of that dark, small, place.

A growl slipped out from between her lips.  Kitten either hadn't been fast enough, or had been too stupid, because he'd let Sinister get away.  No doubt he was taking his time getting back – hoping she'd find someone else to take her anger out on.

Stalking through the mansion, she noticed the form of a man hanging from chains in one of the rooms.  Perfect.  He looked up at her, defiant; his eyes were the eyes of a demon – and vaguely familiar, not just as one of the X-Men.  Perhaps she'd known him; had he been another captive of Sinisters?  She growled again, not wanting to think of that time.

Instead, she walked right up to him, letting the lightning arc between her hands.  He spat in her face; she retaliated with a shock of lightning – she'd gotten good at controlling the power, nothing that would kill him, just enough to damn well hurt.  To her disappointment, he didn't scream or cry, just grunted a little as the lightning passed through him.

She leaned forward, wiping the spit from her face.

"Scream for me," she whispered.  "Sooner or later, everybody does."

With the exception of Hank and the Professors (left behind to take care of Jean and guard the younger children at the mansion), the X-Men were out in full force.  Jean and Remy were co-leaders, but Kitty was doing a fairly good job in their absence, Logan thought.

"We want this to be quick, in and out.  Either I can phase him through the wall, or Kurt can teleport him out.  Everyone else on defensive;  Kurt, you'll also need to be on casualty duty, getting out anyone who is badly hurt.  We're going in to get Remy, not too kick their asses." She paused.  "Although that would be fun too."

There was general agreement with that sentiment.

Jubilee whistled from the cockpit when they approached the co-ordinates.

"Holy shit; check it out!"

The Sisterhoods 'lair' was actually a spacious mansion on the coast – it gleamed white and new.

"Guess they've been putting poor Warren's money to good use." was Bobby's comment.

Kitty frowned.  "It's going to be difficult to find Remy in there."

"Here's an idea, darling." said Logan.  "Why don't we kill them all, and then look for LeBeau in our own time?"

"Here's another." she replied.  "We stick to the same plan.  Me 'n Kurt on search and rescue, the rest of you keep the Sisterhood busy."

"Sounds like fun, darling."

The mansion was suspiciously quiet; it was a few minutes before Kitty contacted the rest.

  
 "Found him!  Two levels down – he's in pretty bad shape, but I think…"

The communication suddenly cut off, then Kitty's voice was replaced by the voice of Storm.

"Such a pretty little girl.  I think my Kitten will like her."

Bobby rounded the corner first, only to be almost hit by Kitty, who flew down the corridor and hit the wall instead of going through it – not a good sign.  Behind her, Storm, wearing an unnerving smile, prepared another lightning bolt; she was joined by the rest of the Sisterhood, behind her.

Betsey tried to propel a young boy to the front; she did something that made his visor slide open, but inside his eyes were tightly closed.  She was saying something to him, low and threatening.  Meanwhile the X-Men were trying to deal with Storms lightning strikes and charged objects thrown by Rogue, who seemed to be getting a good hold on her stolen power.

Suddenly the boy wrenched his head up, and red beams emerged from his eyes, hitting not the X-Men, as had obviously been Betsey's intention, but the ceiling, bringing down rock that buried Storm, himself, and Betsey, and separated Mystique and Rogue from them.

They could hear Remy calling; he was in one of the rooms to the side; as Shadowcat had said, he was in pretty bad shape, but at least able to stumble along.  He took one look at the carnage in the corridor, seeing the three unconscious shapes, he immediately said "Get the boy.  We're taking him with us."

Logan shrugged, pulling a few rocks off the boy and slinging him over a shoulder.  He was tempted to just unsheathe a claw, deal with Storm and Psylocke once and for all, but that wasn't his style.  Screeches and bangs from the other side of the blockage let him know that Mystique and Rogue would be through it fairly soon; Kurt had already taken Kitty out to the Blackbird, and now returned; Logan handed him the boy, and helped Remy out.

Later, watching Bobby nurse Remy, Kitty and the boy – 'Scott' – with surprising tenderness and efficiency, he could see why Remy had insisted they bring Scott with them.  The boy was a mass of bruises – true, some were from the ceiling falling in on him, but many more were not.  And bruises weren't the only thing; he could smell dried blood on the boy, and fear.

He growled out a choice curse; screw Raven.  As far as he was concerned, she could consider herself disowned.  Besides, he had other family now; his eyes lit on Kurt – that was going to be interesting, when he found out.  Unfortunate that Remy had heard Mystique refer to him as Grandfather – and she'd done that on purpose; like him, Mi'kmaq and French were her preferred languages, not English.

And he'd never met a LeBeau who could keep his mouth shut yet.

He made a silent promise; to Kurt, to the boy, to the goddamn X-Men, even.

_~I will protect you all.  With my strength, with my knowledge, with my life.~_

A/N:  Yeah, I nicked the 'Scream for me' thing off the movie, so sue me (actually, don't, I have no money.)  Up next; Scott adjusts to life at the mansion, and Jean and Logan do something really, really, stupid. g  Review, and I'll love you forever.


	7. Chapter Six Angels Fall

Disclaimer: This f*cked up story belongs to me; the X-Men belong to Marvel.  Rabid pixies will be sicced on anyone who feels like trying to sue me.

"How are they doing?"

"Ah, Head Nurse Drake."  Hank gave a wide and toothy smile.  "With your benevolent and skillful assistance at the scene, all the patients are doing well.  One in particular," he indicated Kitty, who was awake, and looking bored. "is doing so well she feels the need to inform me of her progress and the superfluous nature of continued treatment.  She is not, however, getting away for at least a few more hours, so she may as well lay back down, and shut up."

Kitty snorted.  "At least give me a book or something."

Hank just turned back to his work; Bobby tried to look over his shoulder – a particularly difficult process.

"What are you fiddling with?"

"I am not fiddling.  I am making some minor adjustments to Scott's visor."

"Oh."  Bobby took a look at the newcomer, sleeping peacefully.  "You sedate him?"

"Both Scott and Remy have received a mild sedative; Scott should wake in a few hours – hopefully he will have calmed down by then.  Perhaps, if Kitty promises not to overexert herself, she can show him around at that point."

"Yay.  Excitement all round." replied Kitty.

Bobby noticed someone else was missing.  "Jean out of the med-lab already?"

"She discharged herself last night, against my wishes."

"And her, you let go." snarked Kitty.

"Have you ever tried arguing with that woman?" asked Hank.

Kitty grinned.  "No, I'm smart enough to leave that to Remy."

Just then, the aforementioned Ms Grey rushed into the med-lab.

"Is Remy awake yet?"

"No, as I have stated previously, the sedative will not wear off for approximately" Hank checked his watch. "Three hours, fourty-five minutes."

She sighed, flipping a lock of red hair away from her face.

"I have to go on a mission."

"I really would not recommend it, Jean."

"Oh hush, Hank.  I know what I'm doing.  It's nothing big, just trying to bring back some kid Xavier found on Cerebro.  Besides, I have Wolverine as my self-appointed bodyguard." She rolled her eyes.  "A whole mission with just Wolverine for company – have pity on me."

She left the med-lab, after taking one more look at Remy.

"Methinks the lady doth protest too much." said Bobby, eliciting giggles from Kitty and a confused look from Hank.

"Whatever do you mean."

"Puleeze, Hank." giggled Kitty.  "Half the mansion can see those two have the hots for each other."

"Oh, my stars and garters!"

"Relax." said Bobby.  "Nothing's going to happen.  Jean's too tightly wound, and Wolverine's too wrapped up in the 'I'm a big macho man and I have no feelings whatsoever' gig."

"He has feelings!" exclaimed Kitty  "Anger, rage, fury…"  The two of them exploded into giggles again.

"You two are going to give me a headache." complained Hank.  "Bobby, out.  Kitty, get some rest."

"Yessir!"

Betsey was whining about her broken leg and the loss of Puppy; Mystique and Rogue were arguing about where they were going to move to next; Storm ignored them all.

Stepping over the whimpering form of Kitten, who'd come back at dawn and received the full brunt of her fury at the actions of the X-Men, she growled, looking out the window.  She wondered what he was doing, the man with the devil eyes.  She rather hoped he was getting better; it would be no fun hunting him until he was at full strength.

Besides which, he owed her a scream.

She sat down on her bed; a stream of sunlight came in through the many windows of her room and she luxuriated in it, reveling in her perfect, natural nakedness.  Clothes were so… binding.  Kitten came nuzzling up to her, looking to be forgiven; she smiled, a wicked, sunlit, smile, and gently wound her hands through his hair, guiding his head.

Not that he needed much guidance.  Kitten was _very talented.  Minor irritations and annoyances – like the X-Men, and Puppy dropping a ceiling on her, quickly drifted away.  She smiled down at her pet._

"Good Kitten."

Scott woke up, and panicked.  They'd taken his visor away.  Betsey must be really mad at him.

He was feeling around the edge of the bed, trying to work out where he was.

Then a calm voice came, trying to sooth him.

"Everything will be fine, Scott.  Here."

The smoothness of the visor slipped round his head again; taking a deep breath, he opened his eyes.  A large, furry man smiled at him.

"You are at the Xavier-Lensheer Institute for the Gifted.  Do you remember what happened?"

He nodded, looking around.  The man who'd called himself Remy, who Rogue had brought back, was in the room as well.  His thoughts were swirling, remembering Remy's words  _~__t' a good place.  No one hit y' dere, Scott~_

"…so of course, you are welcome to stay as long as you like…"

"Huh?"  He realized the furry man was still talking.

"I know this is all a lot to get used to, Scott.  But do not fear, I am sure that soon."

"Hey, he's awake!"

Scott's eyes widened as an angel – there could be no other explanation – emerged through the wall, smiling at him.

"Indeed." replied the furry man dryly.  "Did I not ask you to refrain from phasing while you were recovering, Kitty?"

Kitty, her name was Kitty.

She shrugged.  "Going round the corridors is, like, the long way round, Hank.  I haven't got the patience."

"Well you'd better, because I wouldn't suggest phasing poor Scott through all the walls."

"Whatever."  She held a hand out to Scott.   "Hi, I'm Katherine Pryde.  People 'round here call me Kitty, though.  The big blue guy with no sense of humor is Henry McCoy, in case he forgot to introduce himself.  Just call him Hank." She grinned.  "Or Blue, although now with Kurt around that might get a bit confusing.  You're Scott, right?"

Bemused by her rapid-fire introduction, he just nodded.

"Kay.  Come on, I'll show you around, introduce you."

She kept up her constant commentary as she showed him around;  he was introduced to so many people he couldn't keep his head straight.

"So anyway, you'll be sharing a room with Kurt.  Most people have a roommate – I'm with Jubilee, and she has the most god-awful taste in music, but it's pretty cool.  Only person I can think of with their own room is Logan – he's out on some mission or other – you'll meet him later – and that's just because no-one in their right mind would share with him.  The Prof's share a room up at the top, and so do Remy and Jean – be glad you're not near their room; they get kinda loud.  Poor Hank's gotta share with Bobby – he's such a joker.  Hank's cool as long as you don't interfere with his Twinkies.  I think he's got some kind of fetish – oh, here we are!"

She banged loudly on the door.  "Wagner, you in there?  Open up, Elf!"

"Vas?"

His roommate peered round the corner; he reminded Scott of Mystique for some reason, but he was smiling.

"The Prof's tell you Scott was coming here?"

"Ja.  Come in."

Kitty sniffed.  "You might have cleaned up a little."  Books were scattered all over the room.

"This is clean!"

She sighed.  "Kurt, this is Scott, Scott, this is Kurt.  I'm going to go steal some of Bobby's clothes to tide Scott over till we can get him to the mall."

She disappeared out through a side wall, and Kurt smiled, clearing a couple piles of books off the bed that was apparently supposed to be Scotts.

"Kitty give you the whistle-stop tour?"

"Uh, yeah."

Kurt grinned wider, revealing his fangs.  "The day Katzchen stops talking, I think the world will probably end.  She's cool, though."

Scott just nodded.  Talking to people was a skill he'd long ago lost, if indeed he'd ever had it.  His eyes rested on the piles of books.

"What are you reading?"

Kurt's eyes lit up.  "Ach, this and that.  Religious texts, a little medieval history.  They're mostly in German, but…" he dug around in a pile at the foot of his bed.  "Ah!".  He held out a relatively thin tome; Scott just stared at it.  "It's in English.  Very good version of the story of Christ.  Makes an excellent starting point, if you're interested"

Scott took the book, and stared at the cover.   He'd learnt to read at the orphanage, at least some, but it had been five years since that time; the words blurred and made no sense.

"I'm… I'm not very good at reading"  He shrugged, flipping through the pages.

"Keep it." said Kurt.  "They'll teach you that stuff here – you might want to read it later.  I've read it so many times I know the damn thing off by heart, anyway."

Scott lay the book carefully down on his bed, not knowing what to say.  His stomach growled.

"Thanks for reminding me!" laughed Kurt.  "Come on, it's lunchtime.  If we hurry, we might get there before Jubes eats all the sugar in the house." He held out his hand. "Here, I'm not meant to do this, but we can take a shortcut."

Kitty coughed when they suddenly appeared in the kitchen.  "Kurt!"

"Vas?" he said innocently, grabbing two chocolate chip muffins and handing one to Scott.

"Here, hold on to that before Jubes gets everything."  To Kitty he said.  "There any pastrami left?"

"Bottom left, behind the ham."

"Danke.  Pastrami and tomato on white bread okay with you, Scott?"

What, did they think he'd complain about food? "Sure."

Kitty patted the seat beside her.  "Sit down already."

He sat down next to her; the next thing he knew,  a large sandwich landed in front of him and Kurt was back rummaging in the fridge.

"Kitty, did you drink all the orange mango?"

"No" she said, poking out her tongue.  "Bobby helped."

"There's plain orange, grapefruit, a couple cans of pop…"  Jubilee walked past and snagged the cola.

"Okay, so there's plain orange and grapefruit.  You like grapefruit, Scott?"

"Uh…"

"Me neither.  Orange it is, seeing as Kitty is a selfish, orange mango stealing brat."

The accused laughed.  "Can it, Wagner."

Scott took a cautious bite of his sandwich, then a sip of orange juice.  Kitty and Kurt were still arguing over the ethics of drinking the last of the orange mango, while Kurt defended his chocolate muffin from Jubilee, who was complaining loudly about having to settle for blueberry.  Scott just sat quietly and watched them.

"You alright, Scott?" asked Kitty.  "You seem kinda quiet."

"Not everyone can be blessed with your big mouth, Katzchen."

Kitty pulled a face at Kurt, then turned back to Scott.

"Yeah." he said.  "I'm fine."

Logan growled softly as they got closer to their target, looking over at the young woman sleeping in the passenger seat.  Jeannie.  Red.  LeBeau's girl.

He called her Jeannie, or Red, but inside his head she was always 'LeBeau's girl.', a sort of self-command.  She is taken.  She is not interested.  She is at least three hundred years younger than you.

There were some days when he really just wished he couldn't remember his life.  The friends and family lost; to accidents, to war, to damn blind fate, to age.  Sometimes it was just a scent, and the memories would come back in a rush.  Pine was Fox, memories of sneaking off into the forest together, young love, young hope.  Plum blossom was Mariko, teaching him to love again, to care again, even if she'd had to drag him kicking and screaming.  Sometimes it was taste – tamarind reminded him of peace found in a temple in India almost a hundred years ago; apple of a dark-eyed gypsy girl whose name he'd never known.

He was just too damn old, that was the problem.  Seen too much, done too much.   Too much blood on his hands, too much knowledge, too much sorrow.  Too many times seeing history repeat itself.  And then he'd been fooled into taking on a boy who reminded him of his son, then into helping a bright-eyed bunch of optimists.

He hated caring.  It made the inevitable so much more difficult.

He poked Jeannie in the side, as the sign 'Egarton City Limit' rolled past.

"Huh?"

"We're here.  Get ta work."

Jean let her mind soar, searching out the one they'd sought.  Suddenly she connected, and she was pulled in…

Amanda stood on the roof, looking out at the world.  Examining herself.  She hadn't felt any different, when she'd woken up two days ago.

Then she'd placed one sleepy hand on the alarm clock and it had crumbled into dust.

They'd talked about this in church, and she knew what it meant.  She was a mutant, a demon, a sinner.

She was damned.

Somewhere inside her head, Jean cried out, trying to reach her.  Her thoughts spilled over to Wolverine, who sped along even faster than the double-the-speed-limit he was already doing.

_~Amanda, we can help you~_

She stared out, waiting for the dawn.  _~No one can help me~_

Wolverine took a screeching turn; the urgency in Jeannies thoughts was apparent.

_~It doesn't have to be this way.  You can learn to control this, with us.  We are just like you, Amanda~_

_~No.~_

It was like her father had told her.  She looked down at her hands again.  Didn't look any different, didn't feel any different.

Didn't change a thing.  Like they had told her, she was better off dead.

The suns first rays slipped over the horizon, and Amanda closed her eyes, and jumped.

Wolverine slammed on the brakes as Jean cried out, her mind again in his, chaotic, sorrowful.

"Come on, Jeannie.  We're too late.  We have to go."

She wept.

He shrugged, and turned the car around.  If he let himself still be bothered by the death of strangers, he'd have no time for anything but crying.

They stopped off to get some food; Jean, her eyes still red, sat out at the 'scenic point', swinging her legs.

"How ya feeling, darling?"

She shrugged, her burger lying discarded beside her.

"I don't know.  It's just… I've never felt anything like that.  God, she wanted to die so very much, and nothing I said seemed to make any difference."

Awkwardly, he crouched down and put his arms around her.

"Then maybe it wasn't ta be, Jeannie.  Let it go."

At some point, she twisted in his arms, her scent changing, and then all of a sudden she was kissing him, with a kind of desperate passion.

LeBeau's girl, LeBeau's girl, LeBeau's girl.  She smelt like strawberries, and he was suddenly reminded of a summer in Prague, long ago.

He broke the kiss, and she gasped, as if only now realizing what she'd done.

"Wolverine.. I didn't mean.. I mean… I don't know why I…"

He stalked away.  "Forget it ever happened, Jeannie.  Come on, we've got a long way ta go."

He drove nine hours straight to get them back; she slept, and he listened to the rhythm of the road and sighed.

LeBeau's girl, LeBeau's girl, LeBeau's girl.  Stopped once to fill up – scent of gasoline always brought him back to his first bike, the feel of the wind, the feel of freedom.  Bought an air freshener, trying to cover the scent of strawberries; it made the car smell like vanilla, and he thought of Paris the rest of the way home.

Remy LeBeau opened his eyes slowly, stretching experimentally.  Christ, he felt like shit.  Hank was pottering around in the other room; so he sat up slowly, wincing at the pain.

There was a little folded piece of paper left by his bed, marked 'Remy' in Jean's unmistakable script, written in pink.

He opened it, and smiled.

**Dear Remy,**

**Hope you are feeling better; I had to go on a mission, and you weren't awake yet.  Hank says you'll be fine, though, and I believe him.  You look so peaceful when you sleep, you know that?  Almost makes me forget what a pain in the ass you are when you're awake.**

**Anyway, I have to go now.**

**Yours Forever,**

**Jean**

A/N:  And the evilness keeps on coming g.  Next, among other things, Kitten thinks about his mate, Scott tries to cope and gets closer to Kitty, and Jean and Logan… do nothing, probably. ;)


	8. Chapter Seven Much Angst

Disclaimer:  Marvel owns them, I'm just borrowing them.

Kitten lay on the floor, breathing in the scent of his mate.  Strange, the way things worked.  He remembered her only faintly from her time in Sinister's laboratory, only knowing that she'd been there for a while, longer than most of Essex's other subjects lasted.  He'd liked the look of her, even then, but Sinister had guarded her like a lion standing over it's kill.

Perhaps he'd had something special planned for her.  But he'd gone to far, meddled too much, and the little frail had proved more than a match for Sinister – and, indeed, for Sabretooth also.

The other frails he'd known; they screamed, they kicked, and they weren't much of a challenge.  To tell the truth, he got quickly bored of them.  He'd been expecting this one to fight back a little; looking forward to it even.  Love was a battle, he'd heard that somewhere.

Thing was, she hadn't just won the battle, she'd won the whole fucking war.

He inched a little closer to her sleeping form.  Dangerous, to provoke her so; he shrugged.  For him, the line between pleasure and pain had been blurred for so long, and so often, that he could no longer tell the difference, half the time.

So he closed his eyes again, breathing in the scent of _her._

_~Mate.  Love.  Protect.  Obey.~_

And Storm, her faithful Kitten at her feet, slept on.

Kitty poked her head through the door.  Scott practically jumped out of his skin.  Couldn't she knock before doing that?

Kurt seemed to agree, because he'd just emerged from the shower with a towel round his waist and now turned bright purple.

"Katzchen!" he yelled, grabbing some clothes and disappearing back into the bathroom.

"Vas?" she returned, in a passable imitation of her friend.

Still laughing, the rest of her passed through the door.  As usual, Scott felt his heart do a backflip; the sight of Kitty did that to him somehow.  He slipped the pad on which he'd been sketching under his pillow, and smiled up at her.

"Come on, we're going to the mall.  The Prof's wont let me drive for two weeks, just because I put a tiny little dent in one of the cars…"

He'd seen the dent in question; it ran halfway across one of the doors of the black Ferrari, the one he'd been told the students were never, ever, ever, to drive.

"…so anyway, the only one around at the moment is Wolverine, 'cos Jean's still kinda a wreck and Remy's still in the med-lab, and Beast's looking after them and Bobby's a worse driver then I am; with Wolverine chaperoning, we wont be able to get half the stuff I was planning on, but never mind, we can still get you some new clothes and things."

He stood up, a little self-conscious, because even with all the food they'd been shoving in his direction, his borrowed clothes still hung loosely off his frame; the trousers barely holding up even with a belt.

"Elf!"

"Vas?"  The now clothed Kurt re-emerged from the bathroom.

"You wanna come to the mall?"

Kurt shrugged.  "Who else is coming?"

"Scott and Wolverine."

Grabbing the image inducer Hank had given him off the dresser, Kurt grinned widely.

"Lo.." He started.  "I mean, Wolverine, with you, at the mall?  Ja, I'll tag along.  This I gotta see."

The mall was crowded.  Really crowded.  Scott shivered.  He hated crowds.

"Are you alright?" asked Kitty.

"Crowds." he explained, tersely.  So many people.  Any one of them might be Mystique.  Storm and Rogue and Betsey could be hiding around any corner.

He felt a hand wrap around his own and looked down in amazement, to see Kitty's fingers intertwining with his own.  He smiled shyly at her, and she grinned back – and then began dragging him along after the figure of Wolverine, rapidly advancing.

"Come on, he's getting away!"

"Why do you care?" asked Kurt.

"He's got the money."

"Ah."

Wolverine was pacing, much to Kurt's obvious amusement, as Kitty scrutinized the latest outfit she'd had Scott try on.  He'd informed her that there were already more _things in the large 'absolutely must, must, have this' pile in the cart then he had ever owned in his life.  But did that stop her?_

"I don't know." she said, cocking her head at him.  "I can't decide whether I like the green or the blue tee better with those jeans."

Wolverine growled from his spot in the corner.  "Just get both, dammit."

She wandered away from Scott and up to him, still smiling brightly.

"You know, we don't need a chaperone _all the time.  You could go have a wander round and meet us in, say, an hour or so?"_

"I'm old, kid.  I'm not stupid." was her reply.  "Get the t-shirts, get the jeans, get anything else the boy needs and lets get the hell out of here."

"But…"

"But nothing.  I leave fer an hour and yer wardrobe magically doubles in size."

Kurt laughed.  "You forget, Katzchen, Jubilee already pulled that trick on him." He frowned suddenly.  "Speaking of which, why isn't she here?  It's not like her to miss out on a visit to the Mother Ship."

Kitty pulled a face at him, adding the aforementioned blue t-shirt into the growing to-buy pile.

"I was going to ask her, but then I walked in on her and Bobby playing tonsil hockey.  So gross."

"Phased in on her, you mean.  That'll teach you to knock, Katzchen."

Kitty shrugged.  "Actually, it probably wont.  Hey, where did Scott go?"

"Probably ta change." suggested Wolverine.  "Boy's probably as sick of this place as I am."

"But there's still a bunch of shirts he needs to try on!" wailed Kitty.  Running into the changing rooms, she quickly knocked on the door.

"Hey Scott?"

"Yeah?"

"You still go those jeans on?"

A pause.  "Yes."

"Great!" she said, phasing through the door without further thought.  " 'cause there's a heap more stuff to try on, and…  oh."

Scott only had the jeans on, and she could see the bruises, fading to yellow now, and several faint scars.  His ribs were visible, poking out against his skin.  She'd heard about his injuries second hand, but she'd been knocked out by Storm when they'd rescued him, and by the time she'd woken up he'd been in the med-lab, and covered up.  Nothing could have prepared her for the reality of what he'd gone through.

"I'm sorry." she said quietly.  "These are all the same size; I'm sure they'll fit.  I'll just go and put them with the rest."

She reached out to touch his shoulder; he flinched from the contact.

"Sorry." he said quietly.  "Force of habit."

Tears in her eyes, she nodded, and backed out.

Wolverine quirked an eyebrow, but she just dumped the extra t-shirts in the trolley, and sat down.

"What happened?" Kurt asked softly.  She didn't reply.

_~That'll teach me to knock.~_

Wolverine was alone in the gym, a thin sheen of sweat covering him.  He'd already worked his way through several of his 'relaxation' exercises; they hadn't worked.

Now he was settling for beating the shit out of the punching bag.

He'd got into a rhythm, and now he probably wouldn't stop 'till Kurt came and dragged him away.

LeBeau's girl, LeBeau's girl, LeBeau's girl.

They'd still been firmly ensconced in the med-lab when he'd returned from the mall, the smell of strawberries and spice and the complaints from Hank about them turning his work-space into 'Lovers Lane'.

LeBeau's girl, LeBeau's girl, LeBeau's girl.

Why did she matter to him so much?  Because she reminded him of one glorious summer in Prague?  Because she cared for her cause with such a fierceness that every failure, every setback, seemed to strike her like a knife through the heart?

Because he loved… Nope.  Not going there.

The rhythm of his fists against the punching back sped up; but it didn't block out the sound of the descending helicopter, nor interfere with the scent now brushing against his senses.

He let the rhythm drop, now grinning savagely.

The perfect person to take his anger out on.  What perfect timing.  How nice of her.

He aimed one last uppercut at the punching bag, then stalked out to greet their guest.

A/N:  Next up:  The mystery guest revealed, Logan gets pissy, Kurt finds out about the 'grandfather' thing, and Scott and Kitty… may or may not be in the chapter, I haven't decided yet.  Meanwhile, what the heck are the Sisterhood planning?

A/N (2):  Rhapsody, I think you can take a guess at where Kitten's head was going g.  The pixies?  They live inside my head…  They control my thoughts…  They kidnapped Elvis and are holding him against his will…  And most dastardly of all – they make me write fan-fiction.  Here, have one.  (hands Rhapsody a un-moving pixie with a rather surprised look on his face).  I asked the others to stuff him for me.  Live ones are just too much trouble, I wouldn't want to wish them on anyone else.


	9. Chapter Eight On the Hunt

Disclaimer:   Yep, Marvel still own the X-Men, dammit. 

When Logan reached the garden where the helicopter had landed, she was just stepping out.

Emma Frost, socialite, sociopath, business woman, and self-proclaimed White Queen of the Hellfire Club, stepped daintily down as the helicopter blades slowed and came to a stop.  From the serenity on her face, you would have been forgiven for thinking she was just 'dropping in' on an old school chum.

Bitch.

The X-Men had gathered, curious, behind him; Kurt was also present.  He growled.  So far, he'd managed to keep the boy away from Frost and her cronies, and his dealings with them.  He'd rather keep it that way.

She strode up to him, showing no fear, and he met her with a smile, a nod, and a fist to the stomach.

Didn't do her any harm, of course; she'd been expecting it, and now gleamed with the layer of diamond that had protected her from his anger many, many times.  He popped his claws, anyway, just to drive the point home.

"Really, Wolverine; there's no reason for that sort of behavior."

He laughed.  "Anything that keeps ya outta my head, darling; there's reason for it."

That comment was acknowledged with a slight nod; one point to him.

"What ta hell are ya doing here, Frost?"

"I'm not allowed to drop in on old friends?"

"Last time I checked, darling, we weren't friends."

Emma laughed.  "I remember us getting particularly… friendly… upon occasion, Logan."

He raised an eyebrow.  "You like to act like a lady, but you _fuck like a whore, darling." he said quietly.  "Only difference was, I didn't have to pay you."_

"Yes, as I recall, you were the one getting paid."  she returned.

The force of his blow toppled her over, although she would have felt no pain; the bruising on his knuckles was fading already.  Not particularly helpful, no, but satisfying.

"Don't ever think you can buy me, Frost." he said coldly.  "Your little pet Sebastian – how is he, by the way? – paid me for a job.  You," his eyes raked over her body.  "were just a perk."

"And now I have another job for you."

"Forget it, Frost." he said, turning his back on her.  "Not interested"

He hadn't really expected her to just turn around and walk back to her helicopter and her dark-suited, discreet and utterly useless security guards.

"You're not even going to introduce me to your friends?"

Logan could almost _feel her smirk through his back._

"Now you," she said, walking up to Kurt. "Must be Kurt Wagner, am I correct?"

Point to her.

"Ja." Kurt replied, holding out a hand.  "That would be me."

"Such lovely manners," Emma said, smiling viciously at Logan.  "I can't imagine where he learnt _those from; certainly not from you, Logan."_

She took the offered hand, and there was a *bamf*.

They re-appeared over the nearby swimming pool; Kurt let go, and a disoriented Ms Frost tumbled down, Wagner re-appearing by Logan's side.

The boy had teleported him a couple times, and Wolverine remembered it as an altogether unpleasant experience.  It came as no surprise to him at all, that Frost had lost control of her diamond form when she'd so sharply re-emerged into this world; thus, when she pulled herself out of the pool, she was absolutely, utterly, soaking wet.

"Good one, Gwi's." he said quietly, his voice, he was quite sure, barely audible over Frost's shrieking.  To the enraged woman he said.  "I think your helicopter's waiting, Frost."

"Don't even begin to think this is over!" she screeched, but disappeared into the helicopter anyway, the dark-suited chimps following her.

Logan growled again, low in his throat.  He was feeling the sudden urge to do something he hadn't since he'd come to the mansion.

A hand tapped his arm.  "I'll mark the days, keep this lot out of your hair."

He nodded at Kurt, and took off, in the general direction of the woods.

Time to hunt.

"It is going to rain."

That was all Storm said before adjourning, Kitten following, to her new room in their new hideaway.  Rogue and Mystique exchanged a look.  So she was in _that kinda mood._

Making a mental note not to make any sudden movements in Storm's direction in the near future, Mystique took a crowbar to one of the recently delivered crates.  Rogue peered over her shoulder, as she liberated the first item from the packaging.

She ran a finger along the barrel of the gun, smiling to herself.  Rogue pulled out it's twin, and the box of ammo, from the remainder of the packing.

Mystique watched her daughter take aim at an imaginary foe, holding the weapon well.  She had taught her protégé in the use of most of the weapons Raven found useful;  mostly blades and guns – the later being her personal favourite.

"Ah don't know, Momma.  Ah kinda prefer the 'hands-on' approach."  Rogue said, wiggling her fingers in her foster-mothers direction.

Mystique snorted.  "You have no appreciation for the classics, Rogue."  She retrieved the second weapon, laying it next to the first.  Rogue ripped the lid off the next crate – without the need for a crowbar.

Mystique quickly examined the contents of this crate – detonators, fuses, explosives, timers – nodding to herself.  Rogue was rummaging through the further cartons.

"Put that down!"

"Aw, Momma…"  Rogue grinned at her from one end of a rocket launcher.

Shaking her head, Mystique suddenly realized that she had not seen a certain telepath since last night.  "Where's Betsey?"

"How should Ah know?"

Mystique's lip curled.  Storm in one of her more difficult moods, Psylocke gone AWOL, and Rogue… well, just being Rogue.  She felt a headache coming on.

"Why do I have a bad feeling about this?"

"It's just Psylocke, Momma."  Rogue put down the rocket launcher, and started digging through the crates in search of more 'toys'.  "How much trouble could she get up ta?"

"Hello there."  said the purple-skinned man as the woman stalked in through the door – well, as easy as it is to stalk with a broken leg.  A wad of cash landed on his desk.

"My leg's broken.  Heal it."

"Well now, aren't we all business?"  He scratched his head, loosening a patch of scaly skin and examining it, before tossing it in the wastebasket.  "No, 'how are you, Julian'.  'Oh, all right, same old, same old, shedding a little, that kind of thing'"

"Just heal it."

Something in her tone of voice made him decide not to argue.  "Oh, all right.  This," and he laid his hands on her leg; there was a scream from his customer.  "Is going to hurt like a bitch." he finished.

The woman efficiently removed her cast with some kind of knife that disappeared when she was done with it.  Julian pocketed the cash with equal efficiency.

The discarded cast now lying on the floor, the woman stalked out, this time much more gracefully.

"Nice to see you too." muttered Julian, examining the bundle of notes he'd been given.  "Come again anytime."

Scott sat away from the rest of the group, who were gathered round the swimming pool.  Wearing his new (Kitty-approved), clothes, and his visor (Hank had made him some sunglasses but wearing something so loose made him uncomfortable), he was sketching; mostly Kitty – she had made a few abortive attempts to draw him into the group, then given up, although she still glanced over at him occasionally.

He smiled to himself, watching Kitty and Kurt gang up on Hank, who ended up in the pool.  He started to draw a soaking wet Hank, concentrating, he only half heard Jubilee's shrieks as Hank shook himself off, showering a number of people with water.

He barely had time to feel Betsey's shadow looming across his back before she hit him, hard.  He cringed as her blow hit a still-healing spot at the back of his neck, automatically curling up into a ball.

"You still belong to me, Puppy," she hissed, kicking him in the small of the back.  "Who else would want you?"

"I want him, so back off."

Daring to peek out a little, Scott saw Kitty had come over, standing hands on hips; the others stood behind her.  The Professors were at some sort of a conference; Jean and Remy were still in the med-lab; Wolverine was off somewhere in the woods, but the assembled children still held between them significant firepower.

Something nasty might have happened, if the form of Rogue had not come sweeping down from the skies, picking up Betsey bodily and carrying her away.

Amid Psylockes furious screams could be heard the call of "Scream all ya like, Sugah, Ah just saved ya ass from a serious kicking!"

Kitty ran to Scott's side.  "Are you alright?"

He nodded, weakly, thoughts rushing through his head.

Hank lifted him easily, carting him off to the med-lab, while Kitty rushed along besides; his body was aching, but he smiled, his mind at peace.

He belonged to Kitty now.

That was all he needed to know.

A/N:  Review, pretty please!  I didn't get the Kurt bit in this chapter, it will happen in the next.  Along with which Betsey throws a fit and Jean does something really, really, stupid.


	10. Chapter Nine Stupid Bloody Telepaths

Disclaimer: blah blah blah.  Not mine, don't sue.

Hank had quickly released Scott from the med-lab with an admonition to rest, and a shot of painkiller that wasn't going to make that difficult.  For some reason Kitty, who'd been hovering around the med-lab while Hank checked him over, had charged herself with 'taking care of him'.

He'd told her that he'd be fine by himself, but truth be told, when she'd insisted, he didn't push the point.

By the time they'd got up to his room, Scott was glad for the help.  He more or less collapsed on the bed, looking up at Kitty through slightly blurred vision.

For a second, he thought she was going to speak; but then Kurt poked his head through the door.

"Go away, Elf!  Scott's trying to sleep!"

Kurt made a face at her.  "Hey, this is my room too, you know."  He caught sight of Scott, who was having trouble keeping his eyes open.  "What the hell did Hank give him, Katzchen?"

Kitty shrugged.  "Something of his own design, I think.  What did you want?"

"Have you seen Jean lately?"

"She was just leaving the med-lab when Hank brought Scott in."  Kitty took a look at Kurt's face and frowned to match his expression.  "Is something wrong?  I've never known you to actually go _looking for Jean.  You don't even like her that much."_

Her question went unanswered.  "But I _met her coming out of the med-lab." muttered Kurt, mostly to himself.  "I met her, and I warned her, and a telepath ought to know I was serious.  Nein, she wouldn't…. Surely she wouldn't…"_

There was a sudden bamf, announcing his departure.

Kitty sighed, wrinkling her nose at the smell.

"How are you feeling?" she asked Scott.

"Fine." he said yawning.  Succumbing to sleep, his last thought was _~Love you.~_

Kitty Pryde looked down at the sleeping Scott, her eyes wide.  She hadn't just heard that, had she?  He'd mumbled it under his breath so low she'd had to strain to hear it, but still…

Kurt Wagner was getting, to put it mildly, pissed off.  Kitty was right; he didn't like Jean that much.  He'd probably picked up on Logan's aversion to telepaths somewhere along the way.  

But he wasn't going to all this trouble for Jean, after all.

Perhaps one last check in the med-lab?

Remy was awake, for once; Hank had been rather liberal with his 'house blend' painkiller.

"She hasn't come back yet, then?"

"Non.  Why y' so worried?"

"I think it's possible she could have gone after Wolverine.  In this state, he could be dangerous."

"Y' t'ink he might hurt her?"

Frankly, hurting her was not what Kurt was concerned about.  But despite all the gossip flying around the mansion, and despite the fact that Remy was not a man easily fooled, he still obviously had what Kitty had called 'a blind spot the size of Kansas' in the matter of his girl being able to do any wrong.

"I don't know what he'll do." was the more diplomatic response.  "He's… unpredictable."

"He's y' great-grampa, and y' can't even tell Remy what he's up t'?"

"Vas?"

The beast that resided inside the man known as Wolverine raised his head and sniffed the air.  The hunting out here, until now, had not been good.  Rabbits and birds did not interest him.  But there was a new scent on the air now, and he was no longer interesting in hunting _food._

Claws sheathed, he moved silently towards his target.  The scent of she who was mate-but-not-mate, mixed with the scent of the one who had already claimed her, was getting stronger, and he had an overwhelming urge to erase the scent of the other male from her.

He leaped for her, pinning her against a tree, but the one who he had chosen was powerful, and clever, and he was knocked back by an unseen force.

Leaping back up, he could see the fleeing patch of red, accompanied by a little of the smell of fear; but beneath that, there was the smell of _want.  The Hunter growled, and then grinned._

He loved the chase.

Jean ran, berating herself.  Stupid, stupid!  She hadn't really listened to Kurt's warning; Jean, as official leader of the X-Men, liked organization.  She was the one who organized 6am Danger Room sessions – and made sure everyone turned up, who made sure Bobby pulled his weight, who organized, well, everything.

Jean Grey (planning to become Jean LeBeau in approximately two to three years, the time she'd calculated would be a likely and appropriate length of time to be dating Remy before he proposed, with six months wedding planning time added on.), did not like unknowns.  Wolverine, in this state, was an unknown.  Therefore, it was up to her to make him less of an unknown.

The fact that he seemed to cause the loss her much-prized self-control a little too often for her liking, may or may not have also been a factor in her decision, admittedly.

She needed to get this man out of her system.  She loved Remy, and any disloyalty would be… inappropriate.  Perhaps that was a cold way of thinking about it, but Jean was used to being thought of as cold.  She couldn't risk losing control.  The ability to distance herself from her emotions and from the other members of the team – even from Remy – was, she felt, one of her most important characteristics.

Speaking of distancing oneself…  She heard him crashing through the woods behind her, no longer bothering to use stealth, and increased her pace.

The Hunter loped along, following her.  She was tiring, he knew that, and it wouldn't be long before…

A confusing smell reached him.  Her smell was fading, and the stench strong against his nostrils was of another prey, the cub, one who had often eluded him.  

When he reached the spot where She had been, there was nothing, except that same lingering odor amongst a rapidly dissipating cloud of smoke.

Kurt had dropped Jean unceremoniously back in the med-lab, where Hank had been restraining Remy, who he'd left behind.  He'd had an inkling that bringing the Cajun anywhere near Logan would have been a disaster waiting to happen.

He'd explained – well, lied.  The half-truth that Wolverine wouldn't remember anything, and then the full on lie that his 'attack' on Jean was not personal, just a reaction to a 'female' entering his territory.

Bullshit.

Kurt considered himself fairly observant; it wasn't anything to do with having hung around with Logan so long, just a part of his upbringing.  Hide in the shadows for long enough and you don't just become good at hiding; you become _really good at noticing what's happening in the daylight world._

And every time Jean and Logan were in the same room, his instincts just went through the roof.  That was a confrontation just waiting to happen.

He stomped up to his room, still in a foul mood.  Then there was the whole 'grandfather' incident, which he'd forced out of Remy before going off to save Ms. Grey's ass, and which had just been confirmed by Jean as well.

Well, maybe it wasn't what it seemed.  Maybe she was just taking a dig at his age.  Then, that put him back to the whole 'knows my mother from somewhere' thing.  He didn't even think Frost had any true idea of Logan's background, not from the way she'd spoken to him.

The door to his room swung open; and, oh, hey, there was something interesting.  Perfectly innocent, with Kitty having pulled up a chair to the side of Scott's bed and Scott still asleep; but he'd seen the way the boy – shouldn't really call him that, from what Remy had said he was eighteen, which made him older than Kurt – looked at Katzchen, and the way she was watching him now held something of the same.

She started at his entrance, smiled sheepishly, as if she'd been caught doing something she shouldn't.  Maybe she had.

"Be careful, Katzchen." was all he said.

Kitty looked like she was about to reply, but he'd already stepped back out, closing the door behind him.  The time, according to his watch, was 5:46pm, and he doubted he'd be getting any rest tonight.  Nein, let Kitty and Scott have their time together.

He teleported to the roof; nestled against the side of the old chimney he had a good view of the grounds.  This way he could watch out for Logan, either the feral one, come hunting for Jean, or the ordinary Logan, who probably wouldn't emerge till morning, possibly not for a couple of mornings to come.  Either way, he wanted to be the first to know.

Sighing, he let his mind wander, thinking of those first few years when he'd stayed with his mother.  His father, whose last name he bore, he knew little to nothing about; he knew he'd given Mama some money to keep well away from him and the rest of his family after Kurt's birth.

Most people, Wolverine probably included, probably thought Mystique had gotten rid of him because of the way he looked.  There was a thought that made him laugh.  Nein, Mama didn't hate him.  For her to feel that way, she'd actually have to had _felt something about him, one way or another._

He'd grown up speaking German; Mother liked to blend in with the locals, at least during the initial stages of whatever she was planning at the time.  His English had been learnt sitting in a corner during Mother's 'war councils', when she'd taken her true form and held long and loud meetings with a variety of mutants who shared her views, as well as occasional 'mundanes' who were fairly well paid for the work they did – and sometimes allowed to live afterwards, as well.

And then at some point, she'd just grown tired of him.  He'd been quite useful, for a short period of time, at helping his mother provoke fights with local rowdies; and at blackmailing his father with his existence; other than that, she'd found no use for him.  Eventually he guessed the novelty of having a blue-furred demon son had worn off, and she'd unceremoniously dumped him with the Abbot; a kindly man who'd taken him in and laid the foundations for his faith.

He'd been seven at the time; eight years later the old Abbot had died; and the new head of the monastery was not so kindly in his view towards the demon boy.  He'd been planning to leave even before Logan had come along, although he wasn't sure how, or where, or when.  Knowing what he did of the world now, it was a lucky thing he hadn't decided to take his fate into his own hands.

The wind picked up a little, but it didn't bother him.  His thoughts turned to Kitty and Scott; again, something told him that was trouble waiting to happen.  And it wasn't because of his feelings for his Katzchen; he'd never assumed she would be interested, and therefore never given anything away.  No, he just felt there was something a little off about Scott – something broken.  He shrugged.  Not his business, really.  Perhaps Kitty's love would fix whatever was wrong with Scott.  

"Liebe macht blind" he said, out loud, and then snorted.  Settling back against the chimney, he waited for the dawn.

A/N:  Next up, Erik gets some bad news, it's Jubilee's sweet sixteenth, and the date has special meaning to Logan for another reason…  It's all a perfect setup for a choice that will change the world….


	11. Chapter Ten Truth, Kisses, and Wishes

Disclaimer:  I don't own the X-Men, Marvel does.  In this chapter, I own Cassandra (who has nothing to do with Cassandra Nova, BTW), and her 'friend' and of course, I own this whole bizarre story.

Logan woke up as the first rays of the sun trickled down through the canopy, trying to piece together the events of the time he'd been 'out', while stretching out his aching muscles.  Memories from these times came in pieces; scents, sounds, sights.  There was a five year stretch of his life, right after the death of Fox, that he could only remember as snatches of memory, the hunt, the kill, living in the depths of the forest.

A flash of red swept across his memory.  Jeannie, her scent still lingering somewhat.  Red had been there.  He growled.  What the hell did the girl think she was doing?  You don't tempt the beast like that.  With that thought came another brief memory; frustration and the scent of Kurt mixed with it.  So the boy had gotten her out of the way, although he should never have let her come this close in the first place.

He growled as he strode towards the mansion.  At least waking up in the woods indicated he hadn't decided to go hunt her at the mansion; probably there were too many people there, although the logic of the Hunter was never clear to him.  He'd barely cleared the edge of the woods when there was a bamf, and Kurt appeared before him.

"Hey kid.  What ta hell happened?"

Kurt shrugged.  "Short version?  You've only been gone one night, Jean for some bizarre reason she's not sharing came out looking for you, I came along, saved her ass, and told a few small lies to cover yours."

"Whadda mean, lies?"

"Told them you wouldn't remember a thing, which is half true, Ja?"

"Ja." Logan replied sarcastically.  "What else, Elf?"

"Told them that attacking Jean was 'nothing personal'"

Logan raised an eyebrow at the sarcasm thus exhibited.  "And what makes ya think that isn't true, gwi's?"

His only answer was  a cold yellow stare.  He sighed.

"Ya know, yer too damn observant fer yer own good sometimes."

His reply came in German.

"Perhaps that would be a trait I inherited from you?"

Shit.

From the look on his – take a deep breath and admit it now – great-grandsons face, there wasn't going to be any getting out of this one.  He switched to German as well.

"Raven was her birth name, although in the Mi'kmaq it is Kjikáqaquj." He laughed.  "We called her Kjiká for short.  She was always… at first, we thought it rebellious, but there was a nasty streak in her.  One day, when she was about eighteen, we had a bad fight.  I went off hunting for a few days – not _hunting like last night, but just a little time alone, me and the world.  When I came back, they told me Silver Fox and Raven had both been drowned, out on the Miramachi."_

There was a bitter laugh from his companion.  "I don't think that it's possible to drown Mama.  I'm sure it's been tried."

He'd have to agree with that sentiment.  "Probably, but at the time I believed it true.  After the funeral… I wasn't myself for a few years.  When I eventually came back, everything had changed.  So I left.  I only just found out when the X-Men mentioned her, that she still lived.  I was planning to tell you…"

"Ja, sure."  The sudden switch back to sulky, accented English.  "Whatever.  Jube's birthday's today, don't forget."

There was a bamf, and Logan just sighed and continued on towards the mansion.  Time enough to deal with stubborn relatives.  He could almost hear Fox's lilting voice in his head.  _~You know, he takes after you.~_

Kitty had been intending to leave after Scott fell asleep, honest.  But he'd started having nightmares every time she tried to move away, thrashing around on the bed, only quieting when she took his hand again.  Eventually, when it became obvious she wasn't going anywhere, she got rid of the chair, slipping into bed beside him.  It wasn't as if she was planning on doing anything.  They were both still fully clothed, after all.  And he seemed to sleep so much better when she lay behind him, one arm wrapped around him.

When she woke up, he was still asleep.  His hair fell over his face, and she brushed it gently away.  She should probably get up; no doubt Jubes was already up, wondering where she was, or, more precisely, where her present was.  Instead, she took another few seconds just to look at him.

He was so skinny.  Kurt and Bobby sometimes teased her about being 'scrawny', poking her in the ribs and making stupid jokes.  Geez.  Was it her fault she actually _liked salad?  The last time Bobby had eaten something green, according to Jubes, was when he'd had jalapenos on his nachos.  But Scott was honest-to-god skinny, even the clothes they'd gotten for him still hung a little loose.  They'd had to choose trousers and shirts that would actually be long enough for what was a tall – when he wasn't slouching – frame; so everything was still a little baggy.  The T-shirt he'd been wearing had rode up a little; there was a nasty scar across his side – that looked old, and she reached out, absentmindedly, and ran a finger along it._

He stirred, and woke up; she blushed.  Caught ogling!  Then for some reason he blushed, too, although why she couldn't imagine – after all, she'd been the one gawking.  Then again, maybe he just wasn't used to being gawked at like that.

She was kinda wondering whether she should kiss him or not, when Kurt appeared in the room.  Literally, with the bamf, and the smoke, and the muttering in German she was pretty sure wasn't intended for mixed company.  He stalked through the cloud of smoke that had accompanied him, into the bathroom, where the door shut behind him with the *click* that was the lock, and the sound of the shower started up.  

Well that was weird.  The everyday kind of weird, not the destructive, genocidal, evil, end of the world type of weird that was the reason Jean came round and woke everyone up at five thirty am on a _Saturday for.  But weird nonetheless._

He'd been running, from who he wasn't certain.  There were the usual shouts and hollers, along with the easy, rhythmic pace of someone who knows they have all the advantages.  Eyes screwed shut, he'd barreled into something sharp and metallic, the blood felt if not seen dripping down his side, the sharp pain a counterpoint to the usual dull ache of his varied bruises and the pangs of hunger.

They'd cornered him now, laughing and joking around, the preamble to the inevitable, to the pain; and he'd thought, perhaps if he could see, then he could escape.  Perhaps 'it' wouldn't happen again.

And for the first time in two years, he opened his eyes…

It was her, looking at him.  His angel, who'd woken him up with a gentle touch, smiling down at him.  He felt the warmth come to his cheeks, the way it always did when she looked at him.  There was a moment of silence; her hand was still resting on his side.  Then Kurt appeared; it made them both jump, and she moved her hand away from him.

The moment was broken, and she was Kitty again.

"I should probably go." she said, beginning to move away.  "It's Jube's birthday, she's got lots of stuff planned, no doubt."

He just nodded.  He'd been expecting her to just leave, but first she leaned forward, and laid a gentle kiss on his lips.  It was brief, and chaste, and it both thrilled and paralyzed him.  Even after she'd leaned back, smiled gently and then disappeared out through the wall, it took him a few seconds more to collect himself, and remember to breathe.

Scott still didn't understand how Kitty could make him feel so… oh, he didn't know.  Was this love?  He'd heard about love.

Perhaps he could ask Kurt?

There was the sound of something breaking from the bathroom, accompanied by a large amount of what Scott could only assume was cursing in German.  He winced.

Perhaps later.

Jubilation Lee tore into yet another present and tried to pretend she wasn't noticing.  Why'd they all have to pick her birthday to be, like, all grumpy and weird and stuff?  Kurt was angry at something, possibly Wolverine, but had extended that to anyone else within range.  That was the first thing.  Wolvie was pissed at Jean, Remy kept glaring at Wolvie, and Jean looked like she'd rather be anywhere else.  That was the second thing.  The third thing was the way Kitty and Scott kept looking at each other, which was cute, but… hell, when had she got cut out of all the gossip?  Bobby wasn't being particularly helpful either; usually he was her partner in crime (and other things, of the sort that would probably get them both in trouble if the Professors ever found out), confidante and gossip source – today, he'd come up with a blank.

And then there was something that may-or-may not have been juicy gossip – but Professor Lensheer sure was looking worried since he'd got that phone-call early this morning.  On that one she had some kind of lead – she'd been the one to answer the phone-call, and the man with the deep Texan accent had had to repeat himself, like, three times before she'd understood what he was saying.

Wasn't Prof. L's crazy daughter locked up in some maximum security place down in Texas?

They were sitting in a private room at Midori Tokyo, a nice (read: expensive) Japanese restaurant she'd managed to con the Professors into buying her birthday dinner at.  Jubilee could only pray that the evening could end without actual bodily harm to anyone in the room.

Suddenly Wolverine pushed back his chair, abruptly, and left the room without comment.  There was confusion on most faces, except that of Kurt, which showed a dawning understanding.  Damn.  The one person who looked like he might know what _that was all about, was also the one person who wouldn't tell her.  Nightcrawler was more close-mouthed then… um, something or other.  (She wouldn't even consider trying to talk to Wolvie about this.)  Maybe Kitty would try and pry it out of him; he seemed to like her._

Jubilee's eyes rested on what was entertainment and future blackmail material all rolled into one;  two brunette heads resting against one another as Kitty explained the menu to Scott.  Hmmph.  What was it with Kitty and, like, every guy in the mansion?  She'd even caught Bobby sneaking a look at her on occasion.

Jubilee grabbed another present from the dwindling pile of unopened gifts, and ripped away the wrapping with a mental growl that would have made Wolverine proud.

Logan emerged into the hall, leaning against the wood paneling and resisting the urge to rip something or someone to shreds.  Wouldn't do much good to go all feral now.

_{I'm sorry about this Mariko.  This is one job I can't put off.}_

_{Crazy Gaijin.__  It'll only be a couple of days, right?}_

_{Right, darlin'}_

_{Then you are forgiven, Logan-san.  Just hurry back to me.}_

_{Will do, beautiful.}___

He let out a low snarl.  Why did Jubilee have to pick this restaurant?  Especially at this time of the year.  He'd known it would be a rough night when they had bouquets of plum blossom by the door.  The night had just gone downhill from there.  Half the scents in this place reminded him of Mariko.  Plum blossom had only been the start of it.  The scents swirled around him.  Her favorite dishes;  salmon-skin sushi, fresh, hot, gyozu, grilled unagi.  Green tea; they used a good brand here; he would've never bothered to learn the difference between good and bad except Mariko drank it with every meal, without exception.  He'd only really liked the taste when he had the chance to taste it on her lips…

_{Logan-san!__  We tried to contact you…}_

_The smell of fear.__  {What ta hell is it?  Where's Mariko?}_

_The smell of death.__  {Logan-san…}_

_Death at his hands.__  {Logan-san, for me.  Please, you must do this.  Give me an honorable death.}_

"Do you like my skirt?"

Now how the hell had this girl managed to sneak up on him.  She was pale, thin, a barefoot waif twirling to show off the aforementioned skirt.

"Uh, sure thing, darlin'".  He grew a little suspicious.  She didn't have a scent.  Jeannie smelt like strawberries and Prague and Jubilee like bubble-gum and vanilla and New Years.  Kitty smelt like one Christmas in Paris and Kurt, thank god, just smelt like Kurt, bringing up no memories, good or bad.  This girl…

She'd used the pause while he was trying to decipher the meaning behind her lack of scent to waltz up to him.

"You hurt." she said.  "I know someone who can help."

He just stared at her.  Her lack of scent was somehow covering the other scents; memories started to fade away – the orchards where he'd proposed among plum blossoms, the scent of blood, her blood, on his skin.  Well what was he going to do – go back in with the X-Geeks and play nice with Red and the Cajun?

She led him through a couple of corridors; into another private room.  A very ordinary looking man sat in the centre of the room, dark haired, green eyed.  Something about his scent, though, made Logan's knuckles itch and his skin crawl.

The girl pushed him forward, twirled around, and left.

"And who ta hell are you, then?"

"I, Logan – can I call you Logan? – am a granter of wishes, a changer of truths."

"Yer already beginning ta annoy me.  Talk sense."

"Mariko."  The name was stretched out, lavishly pronounced.  "So different from your Silver Fox.  So much more tragic.  After all, you had a lifetime with Fox.  Children, grandchildren.  You had time to know her, and you have had time to mourn her.  But Mariko… How long were you married, Logan; a couple of weeks?"

A growl reverberated around the room, and bone claws emerged from their hiding places.

"You gonna make a point sometime soon, or should I just gut ya now?"

"Threats will not be necessary, Logan.  Haven't you ever wondered what might have been if you hadn't left for those few precious days.  If you had been there for her?  If you had taken that dart for yourself?"  A laugh.  "I doubt there is a poison that would kill you, my friend.  Haven't you ever wondered what your life would have been like, had you saved her?  If she was still with you?"  
  


Suddenly he was pinned between claws; but the green eyes just smiled and laughed and danced.

"I can make it happen.  I can make… your wish… come true."

Charles Xavier frowned, feeling a familiar – and unwelcome presence.  Oh no.  Not now, not here.  Not them.  He excused himself, and headed towards the door; the assumption on the faces, and in the minds, of the others is that he was going to look for Wolverine.

Which, in a way, he was.

He was only half-way towards his target when his path was suddenly blocked.

"My skirt has fishes on it.  Where are you going, naughty Charles?"

"Cassandra."  He tried to reach her mind, find out what they were up to.  "What do you want with Wolverine?"

"Mmm."  She twirled, smiling at him.  "Many things.  He will make a choice, soon.  His lovely wish."  Her eyes grew glazed, distant.  "What a wonderful, wonderful world he will build."

"Let me pass, Cassandra."

"Why?"  she pouted.  "So you can spoil his wish?"

"And what will the price be?"

Laughter, skimming across his mind.

"We are so much _alike, Charles.  The mind strong, the body weak.  You __knew that there would be a price, but you went ahead.  A wish to save your love – and the price was the soul of the Beauty."_

"I didn't know how deep the price would run."  
  


"Excuses, excuses.  Was she not a fair price, for the gift of true and perfect love?"

"No price you exact is fair."

"Of course not!"  Suddenly, she gasped, grinned.  "Do you feel that?  He's made his choice, Charles, and you are far, far, too late.  I suppose, since in a few seconds you won't remember _this world, I can tell you of the price that he will pay."_

The world started to shimmer, fading around the edges.  But before it did, images flickered across the mind of Charles Xavier, accompanied by Cassandra's silver laughter.

_~Dear God!~_

A/N:  Drum roll, please.  Next up; Logan wakes up to another ordinary day at the side of his lovely wife.  But something just aint right…


	12. Chapter Eleven Careful What You Wish

Disclaimer:  If I owned them, do you think I'd need to be writing fanfic?  The story is made up out of my weird, perverse, imagination; the actual characters belong to Marvel.

He woke up to the scent of plum blossom, and the warmth of another body beside his.

"Good morning, Logan-san."

Mariko, smiling, waking him with a gentle kiss.  Something niggled at the back of his mind.  Green eyes that suddenly weren't green at all, and the man who had taken the form of a demon…

_{"Done."}___

Unconsciously, he twisted his fingers into a sign, one his mother had taught him, to ward off evil.  Old habits die hard.  But the demon-visage faded, as the memories from _this world began to take over._

There was a photo on the side table; him, Mariko, and Kurt, all smiling broadly.  Fragments came back to him.  They'd honeymooned in Europe; he'd wanted to show Mariko _everything.  The Black Forest, and the little monastery she'd wanted to visit._

The child she'd refused to leave behind; pouting till she got her way, which wasn't long.  

_{"Tell me this, bub.  Will I remember this world?"}_

_{"Unlikely.  I am not merely bringing your wife back from the dead.  I am making it as if she never died."}_

He touched a fingertip to the photo of Kurt.  Something he should remember.  Behind him, Mariko sighed, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"I don't suppose you've changed your mind?"  
  


Logan looked at her in confusion; she must have taken it for stubbornness, for she continued.

"He may have been closest to you, but I still loved the boy like a son, my Logan.  Do you not think he would want you to be there?  To mourn him with the rest of those he called family."

And the memories rushed in, unheeding of his pain.  Mystique… she'd gone after Mariko, out of spite, probably.  Kurt snorting.  "Who knows why Mama does what she does?"  A desperate search had ensued.  Kurt may have called Raven 'Mama', with a distinctly bitter tone, but Mariko was a true mother to him, and he'd loved her.

Loved her enough to take a bullet for her.

And he hadn't been fast enough to save him.  His family, his gwi's.  The boy he'd began to think of as a son.  Blood on his hands, for his sins.  And not just Kurt's.

They'd had to tear him away from the mutilated remains of what had been his granddaughter.  He'd wept until there were no more tears.  Then he'd just lain in Mariko's arms.  Didn't eat, didn't sleep.  A waking dead man.

And now his instincts were acting up again, telling him this was _wrong.  There was something amiss.  Somewhere in his memory, green eyes segued into a hateful flaming red._

_{"What's the catch, bub?"}_

_{"The world may not be exactly as you remember it; one change affects many things.  For better, for worse… I cannot say until the wish is made."}_

Something wrong.  He stood up, distracted.  Pulled on a shirt with the jeans he was wearing.  Took the katana from it's place on the wall; check the blade – yes, still sharp.  

"Where are you going?"

"Ta fix things."

"Logan-san…  How can you 'fix things'?  You have already destroyed the one who killed him.  What more can you do?"

"Not sure, darlin'.  But there's a way, I know it."

Resignation was on her face; she obviously recognized his mood.  "Crazy Gaijin.  Come back to me?"

"Always, beautiful.  Always."

Mariko wrapped herself in a kimono and headed downstairs.  The funeral would be today, as planned.  If her husband insisted on being a stubborn pig; well, she'd dealt with that before.  She needed to deal with her own grief first; then she could help him deal with his.

She wandered into the kitchen; Jean was the only other person up, nursing a cup of coffee.

"How are you feeling, Mariko?"

"Fine."  She winced as her unborn child gave a vicious kick.

"He acting up again?"

"Hai.  If he keeps this up, I think he'll turn out to be as fine an acrobat as his older brother was."  Mariko sighed.  "I just wish my children could know him."  Treacherous tears threatened to escape again.  Would she ever be done crying?

Jean was beside her in an instant, soothing words spoken both out loud, and telepathically.  Not for the first time, Mariko was glad she had such a good friend here.  As her erstwhile husband would put it.  "Jeannie's a rock."

The restaurant was closed; but that never posed much of a problem to someone like him.  He was pretty sure they hadn't been there; and then again, he knew he had.

_{"You've, like, never had Japanese, Scott?!"}_

_{"Shut up, Jubes.__  Don't worry, Scott, you'll like it, I promise."}_

_{"I'll like it as long as you're there, Kitty."}_

The girl, of course, had no scent to be tracked, but the scent of the other was clear, and still strong.  He was still here.

"You never told me whether or not you liked my skirt."

He hated it when she did that.  "You never told me you were going to kill my son."

"The last time I checked, Logan, your son was long dead."

There was a growl, and both sets of claws slid smoothly through her belly.  Instead of bleeding, or screaming, she cracked, like a china figurine, crashing to pieces on the ground that then disappeared into the floor.  The scent of the one he sought was getting stronger, and he growled again, moving quickly on.

He didn't seem at all surprised when Logan burst through his door.

"I wondered when you'd turn up, my friend."

"Goddamn it!"  Claws sliced through furniture as his prey leaped nimbly to one side.  "Bring him back, you bastard."

"Really, Logan, you should calm down.  It was your granddaughter who killed dear Kurt, not me."

The reaction that got was an incoherent snarl.

"Did you really think that there wouldn't be a price to pay?"  The man-form suddenly grew, beginning to glow with red flame.  "There is always a price, Logan.  That is how we work."

Facing the demon, Logan growled again.  "Undo what ya did!"

"Impossible, even if I wanted to."

Wolverine lunged at the demon, taking a swipe with his claws.  They passed through as if the creature was made of smoke.  But the blow that he returned was solid enough to knock Logan into a wall.  Shit.  But as he reached down to move the katana, which he'd half-landed on, he noticed the blade was glowing.

_{"What does this one mean?"}_

_{"Purity.__  Or purify.  It depends."}_

_{Blue fingers trace the outlines of the word, delicately carved into the blade.  A growl from the next room to remind him to look, not touch, and Mariko and Kurt burst into giggles.  A frown, as golden eyes scan the translation he has gotten so far.  "Mariko, this doesn't make any sense."}_

_{"Hai, it does, little Gaijin."}___

_{"Nein, it doesn't."  Tracing of the symbols again.  "Star, born, soul, purity.  That's not a sentence."}_

_{"Think of it more like a spell, or a blessing.  It doesn't have to make sense, just like those prayers of yours."}_

_{"Hey!  Those are in Latin, they're not _meant_ to make sense."}_

The next time he rushed the monster, he did it with the katana in hand.  He'd never really liked guns, of any sort.  But a blade… a blade as good as this one became an extension of himself.  When he was thrown aside again, they were both bleeding; Logan wiped a little out of his eyes from a gash on his forehead and forgot about it – it was probably half-healed already.  The blade had hissed as it touched the demons flesh; the demon looked at his wounds with something akin to unbelieving horror.

Some preternatural instinct told Wolverine to leap to the side just as a fireball obliterated the table he'd been standing next to, and quite a bit of the wall behind him.  Apparently somebody was sick of fighting hand-to-hand.  Apparently he'd also forgotten exactly who he was fighting.  He had the blade at his enemies throat in a second; hands of burning flame gripped onto his arms, but he ignored the pain.  Time to end this.

As he watched it in it's death throes, impassive, an inhuman screech came from behind him.  Whirling, the katana came to rest at Cassandra's neck.

"So you have what you want." she hissed, showing no fear.  "The boy will return to you – at least, until I get my hands on him."

The touch of the katana to her neck shed no blood, but tiny cracks began to spread across her neck.  Still, her tone was defiant.

"Fool.  You have no idea what you have done."

"If what he did is now undone, _darlin__', it was worth it."_

"Everything he did is now undone.  You think you were the only one, to make a wish?  You brought chaos to this world, when you pierced his life.  Things fall apart, Logan."

"Yes, I've noticed.  For example…"  and one swipe of the blade shattered her visage.  "You."

She took one last shot as the pieces fell to the ground.  A telepathic snarl in his mind.  _~That's twice now  you've killed her… Logan-san.~_

He ignored it.  He had a boy to find, and an anniversary to remember.

A/N:  Coming up next!  (Other than more evilness from yours truly).  Logan and Kurt have a talk, Xavier and Magneto argue, Jean gets pissy, and Storm struggles to understand what happened to her.  How much trouble could result from the death of one little demon?  Hell, you ain't seen nothing yet.


	13. Chapter Twelve Aftermath

Disclaimer:  By  now, you should have got the point.  I don't own them, and I promise I'm going to put them back where I found them.

Jean woke up slowly, carefully extracting her limbs from around the sleeping Remy.  Something was… wrong.  Pieces fell into place.  

_~ "You want more cookie dough ice cream, 'Ro?"~_

_~ "Mmm."__  Blue eyes watching the figure in the distance; in his wheelchair, he is searching the horizon for answers.  "This must be so hard for him"~_

_~ "What do you know that I don't?"~_

_~ "I mean, to fight Magneto, when they used to be… so close."_

_~ "Whoa, girl."__  Green eyes lit up with unbelieving amazement.  "You don't mean…"~_

_~ A shrug, flipping a white tendril of hairl out of the way.  "It was before you came here."~_

Which was all bullshit, bullshit, because the Profs had been an 'item' all the time Jean had been at the mansion, although at twelve, when she first arrived, she hadn't really understood what was going on.  And she'd first met Storm when they'd busted up a Sisterhood attack on some military base.  She'd almost been fried alive, which wasn't the kind of thing you forgot.

_~White hair, white eyes, rising up out the rubble like an avenging angel… or a demon.  Remy shoving her aside, out of the path of the lightning..  "Who t' fuck is that?"~_

_~A scattering of cards drive the woman back.  She turns her wrath on Remy, and an age-old enmity is born…~_

Or alternatively:

_~Storm laughs as she teases Jean about the third, newly acquired member of the team.~_

_~ "Shut up, 'Ro.__  We're just friends."_

_~ "We are just friends, Jean.  You and Remy were this close" holding thumb and forefinger apart an inch "to ripping each others clothes off in the middle of practice this morning."~_

_~ "Well you have to admit, he is damn cute."~_

_~ "I will admit to nothing, Jean.  The important thing is that he is a good fighter, and we will need that with Magneto leading the other side.."~_

_~ "Yes, your Team-Leadery-ness.~_

_~Laughter, as Ororo continues on her hunt through the kitchen.  "Ahah!  Brownie mix!"~_

Jean shook her head, confused.  The memories through her head swirled and confused her.  Magneto had never been against them, surely?  She'd never even so much as overheard the two having an argument.

There was a crash from downstairs, loud enough to wake Remy up.  Two unmistakable voices raised in anger, rumbling up from below.

At least, not until now.

There was another screech, and the members of the Sisterhood not currently having a hissy-fit – that was, everyone but Storm, exchanged glances and found someplace else to be.  A large hole appeared in the wall, as Kitten went flying through it.  Lightning arced through the room, turning furniture to splintered shards, or just setting it on fire.

"All wrong, all wrong, all wrong."

Ororo clutched at her head, tearing clumps of hair out.  The memories were painful, splinters of another world digging into her brain.  All wrong, memories of being friends with that red-headed telepath bitch… _~Jean…~… and her demon-eyed fuck-toy.  __~Remy.~  The next time she saw them, she would rip them both to shreds._

_~ "More cookie-dough ice cream, 'Ro?"__~_

She let the power flow through her, burning, cleansing.  Another hole appeared, this time in the ceiling.  Ignoring the pieces of falling masonry, Storm rose up into the sky.

_~ " 'Ro, y'know Jean?"~_

_~ "Yes.  What about her?"~_

_~Knowing what he's about to say, smiling to herself at the confusion of her 'brother'.~_

_~ "Why she so mad at Remy?"__~_

_~ "Sit down, Gambit.__  This may take a while…"~_

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

Vaguely aware of Kitten leaping out of the building and following her, she headed for Africa, and clarity.

Eric Lensheer was vaguely aware of Jean and Remy coming down the stairs behind him, but by this point he didn't care.  He was too busy fighting a telepathic compulsion placed on him by his _ex-lover, which was the only thing preventing him from ripping Charles Xavier's still-beating heart out of his traitorous chest._

  
He wasn't sure what Xavier had done to him.  Being one of the worlds most powerful telepaths, the options were almost limitless – mindwipe, memory re-arrangement, personality change.  Whatever it was, it was wearing off.  

"Professor Lensheer?"

"Prof, y' alright?"

Inwardly, Magneto sighed.  Jean had always been Xavier's favorite, a telepath to follow in his footsteps.  Remy had been Eric's; the boy had a charming way about him and a strength that would make him a good leader, once his feckless nature was finally channeled, focused.  It would hurt to leave them behind, these children of his.

But somewhere in the back of his mind were the memories of Raven and her adopted daughter, the southern girl with the hunger in her eyes.  The two woman with the strength, the power, and the dedication to the cause to match his own.  Rogue, the woman only he could touch and yet live…  And another.  He laughed at a recent memory.  Wanda, his dear, dear, daughter.  No doubt she'd be a bit angry about the whole prison episode.  Betrayal was a mild word for what he'd done to her.  But bringing her back into his fold, although tricky, would be worthwhile.

He did so love a challenge.

Flinging Charles's wheelchair aside, he set off to find his family.  Vaguely he was aware of Jean's telekinesis countering his blow, landing Xavier safely.  _~Good work, Jean.~.  Memories of practices, sweat on the red-headed girls brow as she worked to counter his moves, her telekinesis straining against his own magnetic power.  She always lost, of course._

Yes, he decided, he would miss them.  Jean and Remy and the other children.

But Xavier?  _~Charles, my love.~  Xavier could rot in hell for all he cared._

Logan arrived back a few seconds later, watching Magneto storm off with a frown.  Something was wrong here.  Inside, Jean shot a nasty look at Xavier.  The two appeared to be having some kind of telepathic argument; Jean stormed off upstairs – the Cajun shrugged in Logan's direction and then followed her.

Xavier looked lost, like a puppet with its strings cut.  Slumped, age suddenly creeping up on his face.

"You destroyed him, didn't you."  It wasn't a question.

Wolverine paused to examine him.  "Where's Kurt?"

"Upstairs."  Sorrowful eyes turned his way.  "I never meant any of this to happen.  I just wanted things to be the way they were before.  I just wanted him to love me again.  I just wished…"

His voice broke off, but Logan was already moving.  Xavier's personal life was none of his concern.  He needed to find his kin.

Kurt was sitting at his desk, in that odd half-perch that was the most comfortable he ever got on a chair.  "So."

"So."  
"There was nothing there, Logan."

"There was nothing where, kid?"

"Afterwards…"  Kurt paused.  "She could have stopped it, you know.  She saw me move in front of Mariko, but she fired anyway."

"Gwi's…"

"Nein!  Don't call me that.  I know what it means."

"Kurt…"

"There was nothing.  Mama shot me, and I died, and I remember nothing but blackness, afterwards."

A pause.  What do you say to that?  "Perhaps ya aren't meant to _remember it, Kurt.  It doesn't mean there wasn't anything there."_

"You believe that?"

"I have ta, kid."

A smile.  "You can call me gwi's, if you want."

Logan sighed.  Teenage logic.  "Ya know what day it is, gwi's?"  
Kurt nodded.  "Ja.  I remember the right prayers, I think.  She… she taught me them."

Together they went through the ritual.  Logan had done this every year since Mariko's death – never before had Kurt joined in, but now, at first hesitant, then his voice growing stronger, the German-accented Japanese flowing through the prayers.  A lament to the ghost of Mariko; a healing, a cleansing, the two of them wreathed in incense smoke and the scent of plum blossoms.

And watching them, a pair of eyes lit up with something beyond mere madness.  Laughter at the images only she could see.

"Things fall apart, oh yes.  Things fall apart."

A/N:  In forthcoming chapters:   The Plot Thickens.  Who are the Twain, and why is Sinister after them?  What is Cassandra plotting?  What mischief can Magneto get up to?  And who is lying in wait for Storm?  Review!  Is there any character you'd like me to put into this?  Also more Scott/Kitty will be forthcoming.  g  I'm going to have fun with _that one._


	14. Chapter Thirteen The Twain

Disclaimer:  The X-Men belong to you-know-who.  I own this crazy story, and the various throw-away 'mutant of the week' characters I keep inventing.

This episode is brought to you by the letter S. (Don't ask)

She walked through the store slowly, considering each purchase, weighing it against their dwindling supply of money.  When this ran out they'd be living off the land again, probably for some time.  Part of her thought maybe it was better that way.

Her hair, beneath the hood of the cloak she wore, looked black, although the roots were growing in again, a multitude of colours.  No more money for dye; she'd just have to stay away from people once she could no longer hide what she was.  Beneath the sunglasses her eyes swirled, blue and grey, projecting an emotional field of calm and boredom around her.  Those who looked at her would find their gazes skidding across her.  She was a phantom, whose presence was forgotten as soon as she was out of sight.

She paid for their scant purchases, thinking of food.  Hopefully he would have had luck hunting, up at the cabin.  As she walked to her car, pulling her cloak around her, for it was cold, she though she caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of her eyes.  For a moment there was a red glow beneath the glasses, as she picked up on a darker emotion behind her.

Surely she wasn't being followed?  No flat-scan had been known to break her shields but if there were other mutants around…  She shrugged off the thought, getting into her car, but cold ran up her spine, and she drove more quickly than usual to their temporary home.  Once he and she were together, they were stronger.

She had had a name, once, and so had he.  Both were forgotten, now, in the beautiful maelstrom that they called 'the Twain', a unity beyond all else, beyond the understanding of any but they.

And in the shadows, something was following.

Kitty wandered downstairs, bored.  Prof. Lensheer was gone, and Prof. Xavier was currently having a nervous breakdown in his office.  No-one had said that to her out-right, but Kitty's Mom had done something similar when she'd first found out her daughter fell through walls.  She recognised the symptoms.

Scott and Kurt were in the kitchen; neither of them would be affected by the lack of lessons today, as Kurt, at the insistence of Wolverine, had never taken any classes – instead doing correspondence courses from some German university or other and learning how to wield a variety of sharp edged weapons in a variety of fairly deadly-looking ways.  Scott wasn't quite up to the level of the others his age, so Jean tutored him when she had the time.

But Jean had disappeared off somewhere with Remy, after spending the morning snapping at everyone throughout training.  Xavier had popped in half-way through to check on their 'progress', looking like he hadn't slept all night, and she'd bitten his head half off about interrupting before destroying what should have been a high level program practically without help, methodically ripping the imaginary attackers apart with telekinesis before Gambit finally had enough and dragged her off to talk some sense into her.

Kitty snorted.  'Talk some sense into her'  was probably code for, as Bobby had so charmingly put it, 'banging her into next week until she forgets what she was mad about'.  

Kurt was speed-eating his way through a large pile of anonymous leftovers.  He looked up and waved, still chewing.  Scott, nibbling on a more modest portion of food, a simple cheese sandwich, just smiled shyly at her.  Abruptly Kurt swallowed the last of the food, like one of those birds on the Discovery Channel, and stood up.

"Eww." she said, rolling her eyes.  "What's the rush, Kurt?"

He shrugged, taking quick a swig of cola.  "Essay.  Due soon.  Can't talk now."

Kitty sat down next to Scott, as Kurt turned to leave.  "Hey," she called after him.  "Where's Wolverine at?"

"Somewhere that's not here." came the reply, followed, once he was out of the kitchen (Jean having declared that room, as well as a few others, as a 'brimstone-free-zone'), by the usual *bamf*.

At the same time, a tastefully decorated and very expensive Manhattan apartment was being destroyed by what was technically sex, but from most angles resembled a type of war.  Neither bore any serious wounds – the scratches along his back were healing almost instantly, and the bruises, he knew from experience, wouldn't appear on her delicate body for a few good hours after they had finished.

A small table went flying as they grappled for dominance, matching each others thrusts while twisting and turning.  Briefly, she was on top, and behind the wisps of blonde hair that stuck to a sweated brow were blue eyes gleaming with triumph.  It was all too brief, as he managed to capture her wrists and executed a neat twist, pinning her beneath him with superior strength, letting the beast out, just a bit.  It roared in triumph, marking her shoulder with it's teeth, and then he pushed it back, noting faintly the trickle of blood, but mostly feeling the tremors that indicated his victory.

Timing his movements to extend her peak, he felt her shudder beneath him, before finally letting himself join her.  It was only in these moments when he would show tenderness, and she would let him, as he moved them both to the bed.  There were a few minutes of silence, as they lay, neither touching the other.

He sat up first, examining with careful fingers the wounded shoulder.  She spat a curse out, beneath her breath, but he caught the gist of it and smiled.

"I think you will find, Frost, that that is illegal, immoral, and probably impossible.  But thanks for the suggestion, anyway."

"Bastard." she replied.

"Not technically.  Let's talk business."

She rolled her eyes.  "How romantic."  From somewhere she produced a piece of paper.  On it was a photograph, a name, and a few pieces of pertinent information.  He examined it, committing the contents to memory.

"Time-frame?"

"We need this within one week."  She regarded him with narrowed eyes, unashamed of her nudity.  "That won't be a problem?"

He was already pulling on his jeans, as well as a slightly tattered shirt.  "It's never a problem, darlin'.  Payment by the usual method?"

"Of course.  Make it a clean kill?"

Logan raised an eyebrow.  "I always make it a clean kill – at least, when it's business."

She snorted at that.  "And when it's for pleasure?"

A gesture indicated the decimated furniture surrounding them.  "It generally gets messier."

He was about to leave, when she felt like taking one last shot.  "Does Little Boy Blue know what you do on these trips away, hmm?"

She'd forgotten how fast he moved.  In a second, one hand wrapped itself around her throat, pinning her to the mattress.  Three sets of claws ran along her side, making an odd noise against the diamond form she'd instinctively shifted into.

"Leave the boy outta this, Frost.  Or things are gonna get very messy indeed."

The next second, he was gone.  She exhaled.

Funny, she hadn't realised she'd been holding her breath.

Kitty leaned up against Scott, eating her own sandwich – sliced tomatoes on white bread, because they were out of the brown.  Someone really needed to go shopping.  He leaned back towards her, a little, and inevitably, as seemed to be happening lately, their lips met in a soft kiss.  

The kiss deepened a little, Kitty growing a bit bolder.  Scott paused, as if not sure what to do, but slowly began to mimic some of her movements.  

A wolf-whistle from the doorway stopped them abruptly.

"Hot-damn!" cried Jubilee.  "You go, sister!"  Beside her, Bobby grinned and made a couple of obscene hand movements.  Scott blushed bright red, to match his glasses.  Kitty just glared at the two interlopers.  "What are you two doing here?"

"Getting food."  Bobby breezed past her, and began rummaging through the fridge.  "It's the most common use of the kitchen, you know."

Half a tomato sandwich (on white bread) hit him in the back of the head.  "Come on, Scott."

Regally, Kitty swept out, a blushing Scott trailing behind.

Jubes and Bobby just looked at each other, and burst out laughing.

They retreated to the relative safety and privacy of a far corner of the gardens.  Kitty smiled at her boyfriend... although technically, they hadn't, you know, like, mentioned those sort of words.

Scott was just smiling at her in his gentle way.  She took his hand in hers, and then took a deep breath.

"Scott… uh… would you… y'know, like, wanna be my boyfriend?"  The last came out in a rush of air.  There.  She'd said it.

He blushed, and then stuttered, and then gave up and just nodded, a bright smile on his face.  She leaned over and kissed him again… she was kinda getting fond of doing that.  It was just so much fun.  They ended up lying side by side on the grass, and the next time they kissed, she slid a wandering hand up his shirt, the other slipping up into his hair.  She'd never been this forward with a guy before, but then again, this was Scott, not some high-school jock.  And months upon months of listening to the tales of Miss Jubilation 'technically, I'm still a virgin' Lee had definitely put her in the frame of mind for some action of her own.

It was only when she started considering whether or not she was going to be bold enough to let her hands go _below the waist, that she realised that Scott wasn't kissing her back, not really.  And beneath her (when had she ended up on top?), he was shaking like a leaf.  She pulled away from him.  "Scott?"_

Tears leaked out from behind his glasses, and she wiped them away.  "Scott?  What's wrong?" 

He just moved away from her slightly, sitting up and pulling his legs up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them.

"Nothing.  I'm fine."

And there was nothing she could do, except wrap her arms around him, feeling him stiffen, momentarily, before relaxing into this gentle, benign, embrace.

"I'll take care of you, Scott, I swear.  I'll make it all better."  At this whispered promise, his hand found her own, and in peace they sat for quite some time.

Kurt frowned, examining the pages and pages of scrawl that were his unfinished essay.  The two texts he was meant to be comparing the themes of were littered with bookmarks.  He'd only been back at his desk for half an hour or so, and already his attention was wandering.  Maybe there was more food downstairs.  He'd swear that there was a tub of chocolate fudge ice-cream somewhere at the very back of the freezer.

Sighing, he turned back to the essay.  He better get the verdamnt thing finished.  Behind him, there was a slight noise, but he ignored it, concentrating at the work at hand.  At least, until some instinct made him leap to the side, rolling away and ensuring that the blade that had been meant for his back only sank into his shoulder.

Hissing at the pain, he turned to face the attacker.  Tiny, about the size of Kitty, blonde and with a maddened gleam in her eyes, she held aloft the blade she'd attacked him with, which looked like it was made of glass.  

"Such a lovely boy." she said, looking at him.  "It's a pity he has to die.  But our Logan was a naughty, naughty, boy, and somebody must pay for his sins."

She lunged for him again, but Kurt had managed to lay his hands – or more accurately, his tail, on the sword Logan had given him for his last birthday, hanging on the wall, near the door.  He blocked the wild swing, and his opponents blade shattered into pieces.  The next blow was not intended to kill, but what should have been a small wound caused her to scream, fall back from him, and then shatter.

Yep, shatter.  Cautiously, he moved forward to examine the pieces on the carpet, but they disappeared into thin air.  His shoulder reminded him that he really ought to get it looked at; blood was soaking into his fur.

Cursing in fluent German, with one or two other phrases he'd picked up from the many languages Logan spoke, he wandered downstairs (to teleport would only make his shoulder hurt more) to find Hank, clutching an old shirt to his shoulder to try and stop the flow of blood.

"Oh, my stars and garters!" was the response he got, as he stumbled into the medlab.

He rolled his eyes.  "Ja, tell me about it."  He was _never going to get that essay finished at this rate._

She brought the shopping up to the cabin and he met her by the door.

_~Are you being followed?~_

"Maybe." she allowed.  "There was something…"

_~I have sensed it also.~  He looked around, suspiciously, but the trees betrayed nothing.  __~We should pack up.  We have stayed in one place too long already.~_

They moved swiftly, packing up their few precious belongings with the ease of long practice.  She didn't ask where he thought they should go next; he didn't ask either.

It was becoming more and more dangerous to stay close to people.  Not just for their own protection, but for those living near.  The Twain had a tendency to affect people, even if that was not their intention.

Just as they were almost packed up, an earthquake rocked the earth beneath them, knocking them both over.  An earthquake in this area was unusual, but what made her realise that they were in trouble were the voices, low and dangerous.

"Arclight, you ass.  We're trying to capture them, not kill them."

The answering voice was feminine, and sarcastic.  "And I suppose you've got a better idea."

_~Time to go, I think.~_

She nodded her agreement, and they grabbed what items were in reach.  Just then, the door was kicked down, several menacing figures standing in the doorway.  One came forward, arms outstretched for them.  They scrabbled back towards the back wall of the cabin – and then he took off one of his gloves and the Twain touched, skin to skin.

From one of the would-be attackers came a shriek, but neither of them noticed as the cycle built to a peak. Telepathy and empathy, out of control, each feeding on the others love, each helpless to shield or resist.  Suddenly there was heat from the outside, and she noticed that there were flames, arising from the floor as a shield between them and the others.

That had never happened before.  But she didn't have time to think of it as they broke the connection and, pushing aside the wall-hanging that hid the back door, escaped out into the forest.  They just ran, stumbling, trying to get a head start on those left behind, who would no doubt soon recover and come after them.

There was a river, they knew, just a bit beyond, and they stole a dinghy and made their way a little downstream, crossing over to the other side.  Hopefully that would slow the pursuers, as they started to make their way through country growing ever wilder, further away from the small towns that dotted the course of the main highway.

As they slowed to a walk, her hand in his, the artificial barrier of leather gloves becoming ever more an annoyance, they had a little time to wonder.  Wonder at the flames that had come from nowhere, when neither of them held that power.  Wonder that at the base of his dark brown hair, his locks grew in rainbow-coloured as her own.  Wonder that her eyes, usually a plain, ordinary blue when she wasn't using her powers, had taken on the features of his own, a deep purple speckled with white that made looking into his eyes like looking into the night sky.

Wonder that the longer they stayed near each other, the more alike they became.

But it seemed normal to her, as she projected to him.  Normal, for them to be this way.  They were the Twain.

And none would separate them.

A/N:  Ack, I don't know why I keep writing more of this, when nobody reads it.  If you are reading this, then click that little button down the bottom, that says 'Review'.  Write Hi.  Write 'you suck'.  Write anything – it will help keep me (vaguely) sane.


	15. Chapter Fourteen Annie

Disclaimer:  If you recognise it, then I probably don't own it.  

Kurt wandered upstairs, scowling at his bandaged shoulder (and at Hanks admonition to not teleport while injured).  Jean and Remy were going the opposite way; Jean actually had a smile on her face, as opposed to her usual sour half-frown.  Kurt didn't even want to know what had transpired between them to cause _that to happen.  _

"What's wit' de arm, Kurt?"

"Long story."

Jean gave him a sharp look, but Remy just said.  "Tell us later, oui?"

Kurt nodded, and continued upstairs; or at least tried to.

Appearing out of midair, her hands suddenly tight around his throat, was the girl from his room.  He struggled, although it was difficult with one arm practically tied to his side by Hank's enthusiastic application of bandages.  Then she disappeared into shards; beside him, the reason for that stood in a battle stance, another glowing card held ready.  In a second the glow disappeared; the card returned to one of the many pockets of his coat, Remy surveyed the scene, confused.

"Merde."  he concluded.

"She does that." croaked out Kurt, rubbing his throat with his one free hand.

"Y' met dis one before?"

"Ja, not even an hour ago.  Where do you think I got this?" Kurt asked, indicating his wounded shoulder.

Jean, standing a little behind Remy, looked confused.  "I couldn't read a thing off her."

"So she shields?"

"No.  If she was shielding I'd at least be able to detect her, sense the shielding."  Jean put one hand to her temple.  "It was as if she wasn't there at all."

_~Could you all please come to the briefing room?~_

"Guess the professor found out about my little problem." said Kurt.  "Suppose we should go."

"Y' good?" asked Remy.

"I'm fine."  Kurt grinned.

Xavier winced as his headache came back with a vengeance.  He'd taken to Cerebro, looking for Erik, really, but he'd found something quite different – and painful.  Four of his prescription painkillers went down easily with the glass of water kept on his desk; aided by a good swallow of whiskey, from the secret drawer just under his desk.

_~ "You take too many of those, you know." ~_

_~ "I know."  Calm blue eyes boring into him, until he sighs and looks away.  "Don't give me that look, Ororo."~_

_~ "Is it because of Jean?  And you always said I was the one who gave you all the headaches." ~_

_~ He smiles, thinking of his new student.  "Jean is very well behaved, unlike some I might mention.  It is only that training a telepath is… very intensive."~_

_~A sceptical laugh, a toss of the white locks.  "Fine, have it your way.  But no more of these…" indicating the pills.  "And…" reaching underneath the desk to retrieve the flask " much less of _this_."~_

_~ Another sigh.  "Fine."~_

_~ "Promise?"~_

"Promise." he said aloud, slipping the whiskey back into it's hiding place.

"Promise what?"

He looked up, to see Jean standing in the doorway, hands on hips.  Behind her, Remy helped an injured Kurt into the room.  He frowned.  "What happened, Kurt?"  God, please let it not be anything serious.  He didn't think he could take much more stress.

"Kurt got attacked by some mystery femme." supplied Remy.  "Comes at 'im out of nowhere, den disappears"

Xavier gulped.  He needed a drink.  No, he needed many drinks.  He could feel Jean staring at him.  Was she in his head?  Hard to know – he'd almost taught her _too well._

"Isn't that why you called us here?" asked Kurt, frowning.  Bobby and Jubilee filtered in, followed closely by Scott and Kitty, the latter two with identical blushes on their cheeks.  

"No, that was not it," began Xavier, only to be quickly interrupted by Bobby.  "What was?"

"I got attacked by some phantom mutant." said Kurt.

Jubilee popped her gum.  "Phantom mutant?  That's a new one."

"Are you okay?" asked Kitty, at the same time as Scott said "Is that what happened to your shoulder?"

"What did she want, ya think?" added Bobby.

"Other than my shoulder, I'm okay." said Kurt, revelling in the attention.  "As to what she wanted, I think 'to kill me' mostly seems to cover it."

"Harsh." voiced Jubilee.

Xavier cleared his throat.  "Ahem.  Excuse me.  Could we just…"

The babble continued.

Just as Xavier was about to give up and retire to the nearest corner with his whiskey and a nice book, Jean caught his eye, albeit still giving him that cold look she'd been bestowing upon him since she found out about Ororo, and called order to the meeting quite effectively.

The babble subsided.

"The reason I called this meeting." announced Xavier, "is that I have detected one or possibly two mutant signatures in the Canadian wilderness."  He frowned.  "Where is Wolverine, by the way?"

Kurt shrugged.

"You don't know?"

"Nein, professor.  He just said he was going away for a bit."

"One or possibly two?" asked Jean.  "Cerebro isn't usually that inaccurate.  Either you detected one, or you detected two.  Which is it?"

"Either I detected one mind with a strongly dual personality, Jean, or two minds working in synchrony.  Which it is will be up to you to find out."  He frowned.  "I would suggest that the team be Jean, Gambit, Beast and Iceman.  The rest of you can help keep an eye on Kurt and track down this 'phantom'"

More discussion occurred but Xavier hardly heard the questions – let alone was able to formulate sensible replies.  Finally the X-Men filtered out; but he called Jean back.  The door slammed shut with telekinesis; she stood hands on hips.  _~What?~_

"Jean." he said, out loud.  "I know that you're angry with me."

"Angry with you?"  One delicate brow arched.  "I've gone far past 'angry with you', Xavier."

He reached out to her with his mind, but she'd slammed her most formidable shields up, forcing up to fall back on meagre, faltering, words.

"Try to understand, Jean.  I don't deny I made a mistake.  But no-one is perfect…"

The look she gave him reminded him somewhat of a cat examining a wounded bird – as if she was wondering whether or not she should put him out of his misery now, or play with him awhile longer.

"Did it ever occur to you," she asked. "That maybe you're not trying hard enough?"

He would have laughed if any had said that except Jean, who seemed to regard the shortcomings of others as a direct result of them not putting in enough effort.  Obviously the 'we're all human, we all make mistakes' tack was not going to work with her.  He tried a different route.

"May I put to you a hypothetical situation?"

The corners of her mouth twisted with amusement.  "Go ahead."

"What if Remy were to change sides.  What if he threatened your team-mates, acted in such a way that it was made clear to you that he was not joking or bluffing.  What if you feared that, if you did nothing, that he would end up hurting one of the X-Men.  That you would end up having to kill him.  What would you do then, Jean?"

Her face was solemn.  "Remy is evil.  I am entirely sure this is the case, that it is not a trick or bluff.  He represents a danger to the team." She tilted her head slightly as she ticked the points off, one by one, on her slender fingers.  "Is this the situation you present to me?"

"Yes."

"Then my answer is simple.  I would kill him."

One look at her face was all he needed to know that she was not joking, nor bluffing, although her shields remained impeccable.  And in a sudden rush of understanding he knew that standing before him was yet another of his sins.  He'd taken the quiet redheaded girl, afraid of her own strength, almost hidden half the time behind a curtain of hair and he'd taught her not to be afraid and he'd taught her how to use her talents, how to fight with them.  He'd turned that child into a soldier of his cause, brave and beautiful and he knew he'd do it all over again in a second.  Because she was necessary.

But somewhere along the way, he'd also destroyed her.

A tear slid down his cheek, disregarding his attempts to keep his composure, and she noticed it and flew into a fury, no less deadly for the fact that she retained her outwards poise.

"Don't you dare." she hissed, eyes narrowing.  "Don't you dare weep for her, Xavier!  She's dead, and good riddance!  She was as weak as you are now – she'd never be able to fight, let alone kill.  And one of these days, you're going to need that.  You're going to need _me.  So quit your snivelling – I've got to go.  Got a job to do, you know."_

With that last sally she exited the room, the door opening and closing for her of it's own accord, as if it was scared of attracting her wrath.  She stormed down the hall, to where the other team members were no doubt already prepared.  This proved to be true, so she used her telekinesis to put her uniform on, not smiling when Gambit thwapped Iceman around the ear for staring at her impromptu peep show, and took her place in the back of the Blackbird.  Soon they were on their way, Beast and Iceman taking the pilot and co-pilot seats, and Gambit smiling sadly at her in the back.

"Y' okay, chere?"

She nodded, as the plane banked sharply to the left, heading north.  

Through out all of it, she didn't cry.

Standing on a bridge over the river Thames, a short, powerfully built man puffed thoughtfully on a cigar, watching the water move.  From somewhere distant behind him and a little to his left a chorus of sirens was audible.  He grinned, sourly, and flicked ash into the river below.

Examining his watch, he shook his head and sighed.  "Taken yer long enough.  He's been dead near two hours already."  

He'd spent that time enjoying himself at the local bars, as James Logan, a Canadian 'businessman' who refused to be drawn on the nature of his business.  "Come on, darlin'" he'd said, buying another round of drinks for the local girls and tipping the barmaid heavily.  "No talking work while I'm on holiday, alright?"

When the bar eventually closed he'd wandered off into the night, lighting a cigar, and letting the sights, sounds, and scents of London by night waft across him.  His flight wasn't until eight the next – or rather, checking his watch again, this morning; he had a couple hours before he had to pack.

It was almost meditative, leaning there against the cool stone of the railing, until a scent reached him that made him bolt upright, a curse crossing his lips.  Sabretooth.

He let the girl he was holding go when he saw Logan; she flashed a quick, dark-eyed glance at him and then ran, her high heels clicking on the pavement.  

"Hey, Runt." Victor greeted him cheerfully, a smirk across his face.

"What ta hell are ya doing here, Victor?"

"You're in a pissy mood, Logan.  What's the matter, not getting enough?  That red-head bitch not putting out?"

Wolverine lunged for him.  The moment of red-hot satisfaction at feeling his claws sink into Sabretooth's flesh diminished as he was flung away.  The pain in his side, accompanied by the strange but now well-known prickling sensation that was his flesh knitting itself back together, helped to focus his mind.  He was on a job.  He couldn't afford to draw attention to himself, particularly the sort of attention that would be caused by an all-out war between himself and Victor.

"Or are ya still mad about that friend of yers I gutted?"

~ "She said yes!"~

~ "Hey, congrats, Mikey!" "Sit down, have a drink, celebrate your impending doom"  Laughter fills the room~

~ There is the usual round of congratulations, jokes, dirty jokes and obligatory shots of whiskey, although the crowd that fills the small bar wall to wall is not, strictly speaking, a usual one.  It will be a while yet before the word 'mutant' filters its way into the vocabulary – nor do they talk, among themselves, of 'gifted' or of 'powers'  This is merely one of the places where they gather, among them  members of travelling freak-shows, faith healers, medicine-men, hedge-wizards, the occasional well camouflaged bank clerk or something of the like, and a fair number of gentlemen of uncertain but probably illegal occupation, one of whom is currently occupying a large area of bar, empty glasses scattered before him like autumn leaves. ~

~His name, in this company, is 'Patch', and Mikey is about to do the unthinkable.~

~ "Hey, Patch!  Ain'tcha gonna congratulate me?"  And he flings his arms, long and skinny like the rest of him, around the stocky figure on the barstool~

~The rest of the bar takes a collective breath; the figure turns, half hidden in shadow.  Little is known about Patch, but most of the regulars could tell you a few pertinent facts.  He's a man who gets things done, for the right price, which is a relatively high price.  He's also a man who starts fights, often for little reasons, sometimes for no reason at all.  

In a brawl, he's always the last one standing.  ~

But now he just lifts one eyebrow to the ceiling.  "Congratulations, Mikey."

"Ta." says Mikey, wandering away into the crowd.

"Oh, and Mikey?"

"Yeah?"

"Ya wanna live ta see your wedding, then don't ever touch me again."

"Sure thing, Patch."

~

None could know the struggle that ran through him to keep from attacking Creed again.  The background of sirens grew closer.  The girl had probably called someone.

"You just gonna sit there, Runt?  Do something already."

He just flipped Creed the bird and grinned.  "You'll keep, Creed.  You'll keep."

Sirens grew more distant as he moved through the city with the ease of long familiarity.  Buildings came and went, but the roads of London stayed more or less the same.  And this was a shortcut; although it took him down a street he'd rather not think of.  It was a block of flats now, squat brick creations, but just _here there used to be narrow steps, leadings down to a small room filled with smoke; across the way, a skinny winding road would eventually take you across the local park and up to the side entrance of a little cemetery, where a girl made widow before she was made wife had wept, and he had stood off to the side, not part of them, not ever._

_~ "You'll not tell him, __Logan__.  Not while I live."~_

_~ "Annie… fer God's sake!"__~_

_~ "He's lived long enough without a father, he doesn't need one now, poking around in our business."~_

_~ "Ya should've told me of him."~_

_~ "And then you would have stayed?  I know you better than that, __Logan__.  I always knew you were leaving when the winter came.  I just wanted to keep a piece of you."~_

_~ "Hmmph.__  He's a piece of me, then how come he's so tall?"~_

_~ She laughs then, and he is suddenly reminded of how she was all those years before.  "You still smell like strawberries, Annie-girl"~_

_~ She pouts.  "Don't talk nonsense."~_

_~ "It's not nonsense.  The scent of strawberries always reminds me of us, you know.  Of __Prague__."__~_

_~ "A thousand years ago."  Her laugh is bitter.  "How I've changed!  And you've not at all.  You'll remember it, always?"~_

_~ "Of course, darlin'"~_

_~ "You never loved me."  It isn't a question, and her quiet certainty robs him of the ability of lie.~_

_~ "No, darlin'  But I'll remember ya."~_

A/N:  I'm pretty sure 'Patch' was one of Wolverines long ago alibi's.  He's got a few, rattling round.  I will write more of Storm, some Rogue/Magneto stuff, and get some actual plot going at some point g  As always, will sit up, roll over, and beg, for reviews…


	16. Chapter Fifteen Goddess

Disclaimer:  Nope, I still don't own the X-Men or anything else Marvel-related.  Damn…  

I watch her.  I always watch her, my Jeanne.  By de time I turned up dere was none of de little girl left – I only heard about dat from 'Ro, or from Lensheer.  Jus' dis – de beautiful woman I fell in love wit', and even after I've made so many mistakes, who loves me.

And I'm not blind.  I know she has her flaws.  I know de way she looks at Wolverine when she t'inks I'm not looking.  But in de end, I know she's coming back t' me.  Can she show him her weaknesses?  Will she let him see de truth of her, in de harsh light of day?  Non, I don't t'ink so.

When she found out 'bout de Morlocks, she demanded one t'ing from me.  Jus' a little t'ing, she said.  Took every ounce of strength I had t' bring m' shields down and hold dem dere, but I did it.

She knows everyt'ing about me.  Every dark secret, every nasty t'ing I did t' keep going during dose years on de streets when I didn't live, jus' survive.  Every time I've killed – who, and how, and most importantly, why.  Every fear, every joy.

And in return I know her, know her fears.  De way she snaps into action when dere's trouble, putting herself behind walls so deres no emotion, jus' dat cool logic of hers? Dat's her defense mechanism – I ought t' recognise dat; I have enough of dem myself.  De fact dat she's so afraid of making a mistake dat it rules her life.  De fact dat she still huddles under the bedclothes when dere's a thunderstorm.

So I don't care, what she does when I'm not watching.  In de end, when she's done wit' him?  She's still coming back t' me.

She's half crouched beside de woman – dere were two of them, a woman and a man, curled up under the snow huddled so close y' couldn't tell where one ended and de next begun.  Somet'ing strange about dem, Jeanne says – dat's obvious enough, but she says Non, it's somet'ing about their minds.  Can't tell where one ends and de next begins.

Easy t' find them, frozen and half-dead.  Almost too easy.  I don't like easy.  When Sinister offered t' fix my powers, give me control – dat was easy.  Shoulda known dat not'ings ever _dat easy.   Jeanne said that dey were being chased, dat dey were forced up into de mountains, away from de town – if you call dat a town. _

If dey were being chased, whoever it was gave up pretty easy.  Like dey jus' disappeared; but I don' t'ink dat for a second.  Somet'ings not right here.  Probably not going t' figure it out sitting here in the Blackbird, watching my girl, dough.  

Jus' hope it doesn't come back n' bite us in de ass.

----

Nathaniel Essex woke up slowly, suddenly struck by a thousand things he'd thought he was beyond.  Hunger.  Cold.  Pain.  Fear.  Thirst and the taste of dirt in his mouth.  He was restrained by chains that were cold and hard against his skin and with a start he realised that he was weak.  He was human.

What the hell?

_~Staring at the readings Vertigo had sent him; once they'd pulled themselves out of the burnt remains of the cabin, that was.  Idiots.  Fools.  Imbeciles.  What did a man have to do to get some decent help?  Then again, it was that brat with the ridiculous accent he'd sent to recruit them in the first place.  Teach him to subcontract…_

_None of that mattered though.  The co-mutation in his latest targets was, if anything, increasing in speed and intensity.  The possibilities were endless.  The escape of Storm had put his research back years  – for some reason he'd never been able to clone her – and he'd spent forever looking for a new source of strong, pure, DNA.  This was it.  He'd finally be able to step out from under the shadow of Apocalypse and take his place at the top of the ladder – where he belonged._

_"Whatcha want us to do, boss?"___

_Arclight__, calling in on the radio link.__  He was about to snap 'Go after them, of course, idiot!', when a sudden coldness gripped his throat and he instead said "Get back here at once; I've got other things for you to do."_

_  
Then there was blackness.~_

"Shall I tell you a story?"

He couldn't speak.  He couldn't move.  Apocalypse stood at the entrance to the prison of Sinister, smiling.  Somehow that smile was the most terrible thing imaginable, worse than any threat or torture.

"There once was a scientist who was blessed with great powers, Essex.  He gave his loyalty and his life and his soul to one who was like God, and in return long life and every thing he could have wished was his.  And the only price was that loyalty, that he would serve his God gratefully, and well, and stand by him when the time came for the strong to take their place as rulers and the weak to bleed and die before them.

But do you know what happened, Nathaniel?  This scientist became greedy.  He took his new gifts for granted and he began to plot and scheme against his true ruler, his liege.  In his delusion he thought that he could fool his God, and that he could even take his place.

Can you guess how the story ends, Essex?"  
  


There was a wetness between his legs, he realised.  He'd wet himself, and as he pulled ineffectually against the chains he could only whisper "No." and not know whether it was an answer or a plea for mercy.

  
 "How the story ends, is that the scientist has all his powers revoked for his disloyalty, and the God finds a new follower, one who will not betray him.  Actually, I believe you two have met?"

And standing beside Apocalypse, the slim figure of a woman who would look tall in any other company.  Physically she looked much the same; the white hair and eyes marking her mutant status; her thin limbs belying the strength they held.  But she shone with so much power that Nathaniel found he could not look at her for long, and he dropped his head.

"This, Essex, is my new follower.  My daughter, my beloved Chaos.  I have no more use for you.  Have fun."

The last was directed at Storm, as Apocalypse stalked out.  Beyond he could be heard shouting orders at somebody; somewhere a door slammed shut.

Storm – Chaos, rather, tilted her head at him.  

"Do you know what he has done for me?  I can hear it rain in Paris.  I hear the snow fall in Beijing.  I can hear the worms crawling in the earth, the snakes sliding through the desert.  I can hear the trees grow; I can hear them fall and rot."

Her hand drifted across his cheek, in a mockery of a caress.  "And all of these things will obey me.  For I am a Goddess, daughter of a God, and the time has come for the culling of the weak and the unworthy.  I will hear them bleed.  I will hear them die."

An unholy light shone in her eyes.  "I can hear you breathe, Essex.  But don't worry – we'll soon fix _that."_

----------

Xavier touched Kurt's mind lightly – there was no need to go deep, and the boy was skittish enough about telepaths as it was – until the memory of his attacker surfaced.  When he finally saw it, he gasped.  Not her!  Not her… she hadn't been real, surely.  A trick of the demon, a fragment stolen from his mind to torment him with regret.  He suddenly couldn't breathe, and it wasn't until he raised his eyes to Kurt's shocked gaze and the mirror that hung on the side wall that he realised it wasn't from shock, but because she'd materialised and was trying to choke him.  Soon fragments of her lay around him, mixed with fragments of what had been a quite expensive vase; Kurt had obviously grabbed the first thing that came to hand, or in this case, tail.

"Cassandra." he said, once breath returned.  "I didn't think…"  He indicated the filing cabinet.  "Kurt, under F.  A file for Cassandra Fraser."

Her face had been the same as that of five years past.  Fifteen years old, pale and fragile; a telepath, in the main, but her experiences spoke of a deeper, hidden power.  Coping with telepathy when you couldn't shield was difficult enough; Charles remembered his own experiences, his hard-won, homemade shields.  He'd had no-one to teach him.  Coping with telepathy when it was mixed with flashes of what might have been precognition was apparently enough to drive someone insane, which was more or less what she had been, when he'd finally found her.  Her power had been two years old by then; supported by a rich family who were prepared to fork out plenty of money if someone would just 'fix' her, he'd taken three months to get her to the stage where she could leave the house, walk upright, and go five minutes without gibbering or attacking anyone.  They planned to send her to the Institute, out of sight, out of mind; he'd planned to teach her how to harness her gifts.

Then the accident happened.  The Mercedes pinned beneath an overturned truck; the silent, near-lifeless form of the child he'd failed.  He'd reached out to her mind; the doctors said she was comatose, but that couldn't explain the perfect shields he'd come across, so perfect and smooth that any probe was cast away, no leverage to be found.  Soon the doctors, and her family, stopped returning his calls; after a while, he gave up.

"That doesn't explain why she's attacking me, or even how!" said Kurt, annoyed.

"You think the how is more important than the why?"

An eyebrow raised; with that stubborn expression on his face, Kurt reminded Xavier more than a little of Wolverine. 

"The how will help me know how to defeat her.  The _why only tells me what the motive of an insane woman is.  You can't save her, Professor."  He snatched up the file.  "I'm going to see if mein Katzchen can find out where she is, if she's alive." _

As the smoke cloud cleared, Xavier just sighed, and emptied the contents of the hidden flask down his throat.  Damn, damn, and damn.

_~We've got them, Professor.  We'll be back in approximately an hour.~_

_~Thank you, Jean~_

Hopefully their visitors would be a welcome diversion, and he could get away from demons, insane ex-students, and the angry gazes of current students.

-------

Raven and Wanda took another shot of tequila each, rolling their eyes in unison at the display on the couch.  Rogue was making herself _extremely comfortable in Magnetos arms of late, as well as in his bed, with the result that no-one else was getting much sleep.  One thing that Rogue wasn't, was quiet._

Wanda, thought Mystique, had accepted Magneto's apology quite well, although there had been a certain amount of tantrum throwing and the destruction of yet more of the art collection Mystique was _trying her best to build up with Warrens money.  Oh well.  _

"We're like one big happy family." Wanda said, apropos of nothing.

"Whose Betsey supposed to be, then?" sneered Rogue, untangling herself at least partially from her lovers arms.

"Oh, she's the cousin nobody likes." said Mystique airily.  "But I don't think that's what our dear witch was getting at."

"Just that the family is not quite complete yet." replied Wanda.  "We've got a couple of wayward sons and brothers to reel in yet."

"Pietro." said Magneto, frowning.  "Last time I heard from him he was in Russia."

"Why?" asked Wanda.  "He can be anywhere in the world he likes.  Why Russia?"

"I think the reason might have been, and I quote 'to get as far away from you, Father, as possible'" replied Magneto, planting a kiss on Rogue's shoulder to the visible disgust of his daughter.  "Stubborn brat."

"And Kurt has not been keeping very good company of late." added Mystique, a matching frown on her face.  "Weaning him away from the X-Men would be difficult."

"It might be worth it, though." said Wanda, her mood vastly improving with the thought of scheming and planning.

"What might be worth it?" asked Psylocke, coming down the stairs.

"Painting yer ass red and white and using ya as a dartboard, Sugah." came Rogue's answer, accompanied by giggles from Wanda and low chuckles from Magneto and Mystique.

"Whatever." was the sulky reply.  "I'm going out."

She left, accompanied by the usual chorus from Rogue and Wanda of "Don't come back!"  Tormenting Betsey was one of their favourite pastimes, and Raven had to admit she didn't try and stop them.  The telepath hadn't been proving particularly useful of late.

Now what sort of mischief could they get up to in Russia?…

--------

The Goddess Chaos sauntered out of the cave where they'd been keeping what had been, until recently, Vertigo's boss.  She turned her head to regard the assembled Marauders, who instinctively shuddered.  Vertigo frowned.  Something about those eyes creeped her out.  There was slightly insane, like Sinister, and there was completely fucking nuts, and this girl fell into the later category.  Not that she was easily scared, but the realisation that her guarantee of eternal life via cloning was locked up under the supervision of this crazy bitch had made her very nervous indeed.

Chaos gestured to the cave.  "Bury that."  Then she took to the skies, leaving behind several very confused Marauders.  As one they crept into the small space.  As their eyes adjusted to the dim light, Arclight summed up the situation in her usual concise manner.  "Shit."

Vertigo gazed on what had been Nathaniel Essex, and her expression hardened.  Right then.  As of right now, the Marauders could die.  Not just that, but they'd stay dead.  Therefore it would be a very good idea to do exactly what Apocalypse and his fucked up daughter demanded, and bury him.

As soon as they could work out a way to scrape all the pieces up off the floor, that was.

A/N:  And the plot, well, doesn't exactly thicken, but I am going somewhere with this, promise.  Maybe.  g  Aw, just review already.  


	17. Chapter Sixteen Phoenix

Disclaimer:  I just want to play for a bit.  I'll put them back in their boxes afterwards, honest.  Only a little soiled, all n' all…

A/N:  Dedicated, with love and pixies, to those who reviewed asking for more Vic/Ro.  And to Brendon, who pointed out a few things about the Vic/Ro interactions in the earlier chapters.  Hope this is an improvement…

A/N(2):  Re: Feedback.  Although I enjoy an ego boost as much as the next gal (or guy), I'd like to thank those who take the time to point out stuff I've done wrong, or just make random demands on what they want to see more off. g.  Comments, criticisms and even flames are all welcomed.  ;).  I'm a big girl, I can take it.  Besides, it gives me more ideas.  After all, in 'The Way' (shameless plug for my movieverse story), which was going to be a Ro/Lo/Remy triangle thingy, someone suggested I should do Kurt/Rogue, and that storyline has gradually hijacked the entire bloody thing.  I'm very susceptible to suggestions. :P

Alright, I'll shut up now and write the damn story.

-------

"And where have you been?"

Victor Creed grinned at the half-dressed figure before him.  Then again, for 'Ro, that _was_ fully dressed.  Not that he was complaining, or anything.  He stopped to appreciate the view for a second or two.  What was the question again?  Oh, right.

"Here and there.  Ran into the runt in London, had a little fun."

One slim finger came up and waggled in front of his nose; her scent had changed, it was stronger, more powerful, but not unpleasant, and her eyes were pure white, although she didn't seem angry.  Victor frowned, almost missing what she said next.

"Bad Kitten.  That wasn't part of the plan.  It's not time to play yet."

"Oh yeah?" He bit at the finger in front of him.  Taste of Ororo and something else, someone else.  Taste of blood.  "I think you've been playing already, frail."

Her eyes slid half shut, her head turning slightly towards a small cave to the side of them, a wicked smile playing across her face.

"Maybe." she replied.

He leaped then, managing to surprise her, pinning her down for a second.  She was stronger than before, obviously so, and he wondered what she'd been up to.  But she was unused to her new strength, and couldn't throw him off.

"Naughty, naughty, frail." he whispered in her ear.  Flicked his tongue along her neck.  Taste of his Storm, here, purer than before and the subtle change in her scent made him grin.

Preoccupied with the feel of her under him, and the gentle curve of her neck, he didn't notice she was building a charge up until the electricity ripped through his body.  Cursing, he released his grip for a second, which was all she needed.  He went flying; tasted blood in his mouth, his own, and swore again.

Definitely stronger.  She'd thrown him further than he'd thought possible, and using strength alone, unaided by a bolt.  He could tell the difference – this way there was no smell of burning flesh.  

"You been working out, 'Ro?" he asked, grinning.  Whatever this change in her meant, it looked like fun to him.

"Things change." was all she said, and the next second the earth beneath him moved, wrapping itself around his feet.  As she walked towards him, the rock around her moved too, until they were enclosed within four walls.  No ceiling.  Storm didn't like ceilings.  The electricity sparked between her hands and she looked up at him and smiled, the wind outside howling and the thunder beating out an old rhythm.  The rain started.

Yep.  Definitely fun.

------

Betsey walked along in the cold.  They were stuck out in some god-forsaken freezing middle-of-nowhere place with a name she couldn't even pronounce, trying to track down Magnetos brat of a son, which, given that said boy could be half-way across the world before any of them could blink, seemed rather a waste of time to her.  Not that anyone was listening to her point of view.

She wrapped her woollen coat closer around her.  Five layers and she was still freezing.  Elizabeth Braddock had long since come to the conclusion that she hated Russia.  She hated the people.  She hated the food.  She hated the scenery.  She especially hated staying near the rest of her… what was she meant to call them?  With the addition of Magneto they were no longer the Sisterhood.  Raven seemed content to let Magneto lead them, that hussy Rogue relishing her position in his arms, and Wanda more interested in helping Rogue snipe at Betsey than anything else.  

As cold as it was, the local peasants were out working, doing whatever it was they did.  A group of them were huddled up ahead by the dark craggy side of a mountain, near a large fire.  Someone was singing, a tuneless cry that sent shivers up her spine.  She headed for them anyway, the fire holding more attraction than she could ever have fear for a few flat-scans.  One grabbed her arm as she came near, dragging her forward, and she noted that some among the crowd were quite obviously mutants.

The centre of attention was what looked like a small cave, it's entrance covered in a metallic mesh, decorated by dolls, tokens and talismans around it's edge.  In the centre was an emblem, a bird rising from flame.  The peasant holding her arm said something unintelligible.  

"What?" she said, annoyed.  "What the hell is this."

There was a ripple in the crowd, and one of the more obvious mutants stepped forward, tall and broad shouldered, his entire body seemingly made out of steel.  

"Phoenix."  he said, indicating the cave.  "Illyana said you would come.  Watch."

The song-chant continued, rising higher.  Betsey looked at the gate, which seemed to shimmer in the firelight, the phoenix emblem on the front moving before her eyes.  She couldn't look away.  Unaware of the cold or the time passing, until the quality of the light changed, and she realised the sun was dawning, shining directly on the small cave, it seemed.  She reached out and touched the gate, the fine metalwork cool beneath her fingers.

And the Phoenix awoke.

---------

In the Med-Lab, the two mutants they'd rescued were still asleep.  They'd thrashed and fought, even in slumber, when it Hank had attempted to separate them, so they lay beneath one blanket.  The good doctor, having managed to rid his work area of (in order), Jubilee, Kitty and Scott, Bobby, Jean and Remy, Jubilee and Bobby (again), and the Professor, was running a few tests in his hard-won peace and quiet.  

The genetic sequencer did its work with a low hum.  He examined the results as they emerged, growing steadily more confused with each bit of data that he saw.  Switching to another machine, he fed the data into that and let it chew on it.  Slowly an image began to build up on the screen; suddenly it was clear.  Unbelievable, incredible, but yes, the evidence was there.  Switching to a computer, he quickly ran a simulation.  He looked at the results.  He looked at them again.

"Oh my."  he whispered.  "I think the Professor will have to hear about this."

He turned, only to gasp when he saw what was happening.

The Twain glowed with a faint light, pulsing.

"Perhaps my original estimations of the rate of progress of the transformation process _were a bit on the lean side…" he said, somewhat apologetically to no-one in particular.  Then the faint light turned into a glow, and expanded, and his entire world became pain, before the blessed blackness overcame him._

----------

Scott sat in his side of the room; you could tell which side was his, because it was the side where you could see the floor.  Used to living in darkness, he liked to have things where he knew where they were without looking.  Y'know, just in case.  Something about the mutants Kitty had insisted they go see had been wrong.  Felt wrong.  So he'd retreated up into his and Kurt's room, to think.  Brooding, Kitty called it.

Suddenly Kitty phased through the wall, making him jump.  "You see Kurt?"

Scott had to think.  "Not since the meeting."

She frowned.  "He asked me to find this girl, I hacked into some hospital records for him, and he took the file and said he was going to go see the Professor.  But Xavier hasn't seen him and neither has anyone else."

Scott tiptoed through the mess of books and clothing that was Kurt's half of the room to find the one thing that Kurt took good care of; his holo-watch, usually left in its charger when it wasn't needed.  It was gone.

"Uh, Kitty?"

"Shit!"  The unexpected profanity took him aback; Kitty _never swore.  She took one look at the shock on his face and blushed.  "Sorry.  I think he's gone after her himself, the nutter.  We should go tell the Professor."_

Scott was about to agree, but there was a sudden change in the air.  The red in his vision became _redder_, if that was even possible, and then Kitty was kissing him.  Kissing him like they did in movies, like they did in those books Jubilee thought nobody knew she read, like she would die if they stopped and air was an optional thing.  

And then _oh! because her hands were wandering, and that was new, and not unpleasant, no.  Nice.  More than nice.  Words came to mind that he'd only heard second-hand, sniggers and jokes in back-alleys.  And then his instincts kicked in on overdrive.  The part of him that could tell which people were truly sympathetic and which would joke around with him, tease the blind kid but not hurt him, not really, and which were to be avoided at all costs, that part of him was saying this was wrong.  This was not Kitty.  No, and he didn't realise he was saying it out loud till he pulled far enough away from her that the sound wasn't being swallowed up against her lips.  "No, Kitty."_

She knew it too, because she nodded, stopped what she was doing.  There were tears in her eyes; she bit her lower lip, absentmindedly.  Looked at him.  "Something's happening."  Halfway between a question and a statement, that.  He nodded.

"What do we do?"

He didn't know what to say, for a second.  Wasn't good at making decisions.  Wasn't good at protecting people, at making things better.  Thought of Alex, face upturned.  Trusting.  He'd failed Alex.

He didn't want to fail again.

"We should inform the Professor." he said, and if Kitty was as surprised as he was at the strength in his voice, she didn't show it.

-------

The knock on the door was heavy.  Mystique had her hand on a gun, but Magneto just laid relaxed as Rogue opened the door.  The creature behind ambled through, nodded at them.  "I have come for Elizabeth's things."

Rogue and Mystique exchanged Looks.  "Ah see." said Rogue.  "And you would be?" added Raven, peering curiously at the newcomer, a tall Russian fellow.  'Mutant?' she flicked to Magneto in sign language, and he nodded.

"Piotr Rasputin."  He proffered one large hand, but didn't seem offended when nobody shook it.

"What do you want with Betsey's shit, anyway?" asked Wanda, wandering in from the shower.

"Elizabeth has been chosen.  She will stay with us now."

"That's nice."  Wanda looked at Magneto, a query in her eyes, and he shrugged.

Rogue rolled her eyes, and swung one high-powered fist at Piotr.  Only to have it caught easily, and encased in that large hand, a hand made of steel.

"Her room?" he asked.  Raven, grinning, indicated the appropriate door.  A warning look from Magneto held back Rogue, who was obviously considering going at Piotr bare-handed.  He disappeared into what had been Betsey's room, now made flesh again.

"Let him go, Rogue.  Elizabeth Braddock has not proved herself useful as of yet.  But if there is some kind of mutant organisation within Russia, I think we'd like to know more about it, would we not?"  Rogue nodded, sulkily.  "And throwing our Piotr through a wall, as amusing as it may be at the time, will not help us in that task."

Piotr returned, shouldering Betsey's large bag with ease.  He gave a sort of half bow.  "Aw, just get out already." said Rogue.  "Before Ah decide to kick ya out, _Sugah_."

"Illyana told me the Americans had no manners." he said quietly.  "I see she was correct."

Rogue growled.

--------------

Logan stalked through the doors of the mansion, on general principle.  He stopped suddenly.  Let his bag drop to the ground.  There was something in the air, thick, like honey… or blood.  Maybe both.  The scents of the mansion drifted towards him.  Red… LeBeau's girl, his mind reminded him.  But the honey-blood in the air was like velvet across his senses, and it whispered.  It said: Listen to your nose.  LeBeau isn't here right now.

It seemed as if she was waiting for him.  Her hair was loose, the smell of strawberries… overwhelming.  Tempting.  Honey-blood, honey-blood, a red haze over his mind.

"There's something." she said.  "Something happening.  This isn't real.  This isn't us.  This isn't me."

But by that time he had his mouth at her neck, licking over the fluttering pulse, and the beast _tasted her.  First she didn't fight, just stood there, like a statue.  The honey-blood thing, whatever it was, rose like a crescendo.  He dipped his tongue against her skin, bit down, a little.  Marked her._

When she finally moved, it was to pull both of them down onto the ground, and after that, there was just _want._

------------

Betsey woke up.  And then winced, because why was the room so bright?  The sky seemed to be on fire.. ugh, had she gotten drunk on vodka again?  Wanda better not have spiked her drinks again, or Magneto's daughter or not, she'd rip her a new..

What the hell was she wearing?

The room was small, the walls plain white.  The only decoration was the large wooden cross over the head of the (her?) bed.  How rustic.  How _charming._

She was going to throw up.

There was a little sink in the corner, and she splashed some water on her face, examined herself in the mirror.  

The girl in the mirror shone.  She looked tired, but radiant.  A description more usually applied only to new mothers, but Betsey's tired mind refused to come up with anything better.

_~Of course not.  Mere words cannot describe us now.~_

The robes she was wearing felt like silk, and were attractive enough, despite being a vivid yellow.  Across the chest, an emblem was embroidered in metallic thread – a bird rising from flame.

Phoenix, she thought, and wasn't altogether surprised to hear her mind answer _~Yes.~ _Or maybe _~Yes?~, a kind of sardonic question, as if her waking mind was the only part of her that Didn't Get This Yet._

When that Piotr fellow came back, she was going to beat him into pieces, into as many pieces as it would take to get some damn answers.  Take him apart and put him back together inside out – and at that thought, there was a tingling in her fingers, as if it was possible, and not some idle threat.

A breeze wafted across her neck.  

"Whatchadoing?"

"Who the fuck are you!"  That was it.  She'd had about enough of strange people turning up, messing with her head, messing with her life.

"Pietro.Don'tconfusemewithPietr,it'sreallyannoying.YoumustbePhoenix"

"I'm Betsey.  Go away."  She paused.  "Wait a minute.  Pietro?  _You're Magneto's brat?  _You're_ the reason I'm stuck in this god-forsaken country?"_

"Iammanythings.Magneto'sson,yes,notthemostimportantthough.AndyouarePhoenix."

There was that breeze again, and he was suddenly beside her, pulling the bright yellow robe down off her shoulder.  Down far enough to show what lay beneath.

It was as if the embroidery from the robes had bled through onto her chest.  Only not, because what was on the robes was just a picture, and this… This was real.  The colours were too bright for a tattoo, too intense.

"Pietrgonetogetyourthings.Youstayherenow.IgogetridofDaddy.Can'thavehimspoilingourplansnow?MineorPietr'sorIllyana's"

He laughed, rapid-fire, a machine-gun rat-a-tat.

"What do you mean, gone to get my things?  Who the heck is Illyana?"  
  


"Pietr'sdeadsister.Livesinhishead.Madasafishbuthe'sagoodlad.You'rebetteroffstayinghere.Wegiveyouwhattheywillnot."

"Like what?"

It took a visible effort for the silver-haired scion of Magneto to slow down his speech and mannerisms.

"Have you even looked out the window?  Like an army, for a start.  Like a people.  Like a crown and a throne.  Lady Phoenix." The last was tossed out as almost an insult.  "Took us so long to find someone suitable.  Powerful enough to contain her.  Do you know how many have tried?  How many lie dead by her?  How many driven mad and now dead by their own hands?  And what do you do?  Whine and complain.  Now sit still – I'll be back in a bit."

Betsey moved over to the window slowly, once he'd left.  Outside, a few people were moving around, most of them obviously mutants, many carrying weapons.  The rest probably _were weapons.  When they looked up and saw her, they bowed.  _

This place was practically a fucking castle!  She smiled, nodded graciously at those outside.  Like a queen.

_~Yes, a queen.  We have been, since the beginning.  Before ice, there was fire, and we burned in the void for a thousand years.  Eldest of all.  All of it ours.~_

Strange thoughts, spinning through her head.  Maybe she should stay here, just for a bit.  Explore.  Get to know the place.

Yes.

---------

Victor grinned at someone walking past, just for effect.  As expected, they cowered, then ran.  Some people were so predictable.  Yet, he never got bored of doing that.  Funny.

Ororo was in conference with Head Guy, who was no more insane or morally repugnant than anyone else Victor had ever worked for, which wasn't saying much.  Hey, as long as he got to kill something.  Preferably the Runt, or one of the X-Men.  Or perhaps one of the people currently scuttling round, trying not to catch his eye.  He considered some of them.  Wondering who would fight back, who would beg, who would scream.

Usually, of course, they did all three by the time he was through.

Ah, Ororo seemed to be done.  Victor had excused himself from the meeting.  Head Guy had gone on a lot about 'Elites', and 'Cleansing', which to Victor meant 'Us', and 'Killing people who we don't like'.  Which was fine by him, but dressing it up with a lot of fancy garbage meant nothing.  

She smiled at him, and he wondered if her eyes would always be like that now, the pure white without a hint of colour.  He'd rather miss the blue, although he'd never admit it.

"All done plotting, 'Ro?"

"Planning." she corrected.  Something in the tone of her voice made his body ache where the cuts inflicted from before had already healed.  Wanting them back.  Was it pain that enhanced pleasure or pleasure that enhanced pain?  He couldn't remember.  Maybe he'd never known.

"Hmm."  That little crook at the base of her neck – that needed licking.  Her wrist too – pulse points, flickering, racing at his touch.  "Any plans I might be interested in?"

They were almost back to the rooms that had been designated as theirs.  She smiled; sphinx-smile, mysterious, like that picture he'd seen once, by some Italian guy.  Famous, that smile.

Ororo's was better.

"Some.  They mostly involve killing, maiming, or destroying in some way.  All your favourites."

"You forgot licking." he pointed out, herding her towards the door.  Door open, carry Ororo through, door shut.

Her blue eyes would have widened at that sort of remark, pupils dilating.  The eyelashes might have fluttered; she might have winked.  These new, colder, eyes of hers did nothing of the sort.

"What did he do to ya, 'Ro?" he asked.

"Bettered me.  I am a Goddess now, my Victor.  Fit to be worshipped.  Ready to make the world bleed."

"Well in that case," he replied, pushing her onto the edge of the bed and dropping down to kiss her foot – then nip at the ankle.  "I think I better worship you – till you scream."

Much later, he got up to grab a drink – water, the next person he saw with alcohol was as good as dead unless they handed it over.  Frowned to see what was on the table.  Abandoned drawings, done in crayon.  War scenes.  Flames.  In one he could see clearly the form of Head Guy at the top of a mountain.  Below him sat Ororo, on a white throne.  The hairy figure to the left of her was obviously Victor himself.  To the right was another figure, wearing all black, with red eyes.  Above circled four figures, demon-like.  Below lay piles of dead bodies, carnage for miles.

Other than the piles of dead bodies – which looked like a fun days work – the picture was creepy.  He didn't get creeped out.  He didn't do creepy.  

"What's this then?" he asked 'Ro, despite the fact that asking 'Ro too many questions was terminally unwise.

"Planning." she said sleepily.  

Victor shrugged, and curled around her, breathing in the scent.  Ororo would do whatever the hell she wanted to do.  As long as he got to play… what the hell did he care.  He soon drifted off to sleep, pleasant dreams involving gutting Wolverine with a pitch-fork floating through his head.

--------

Kurt looked up at the hospital.  He hoped they wouldn't mind he'd borrowed the car.  He hoped even more that nobody found out he'd bamfed into a plane and gotten a free ride.  And he really, really, hoped that nobody found out about _this_.

The weight of his sword was comforting, somehow.  He paused before the doors of the hospital.  "Mein Gott," he whispered.  "For what I am about to do, forgive me."

He thought of Logan, of what he was doing now (Kurt wasn't stupid, he knew where Logan got his money from), and wondered if killing ran in the family.  Wondered if it would be easy.  

Wondered if he'd enjoy it.  Hoped he wouldn't.

But this wasn't about revenge, as Xavier would probably think.

This was about family.

A/N:  Gee whiz, I finally updated.  And it's got Vic/Ro goodness in it and all.  Unfortunately I have a short attention span and can't devote an entire chapter to just one pairing… ah well.  Incidentally, someone left me this review on another story:

'well at least I know there are still sick people in the world'  Hmmm.  Still trying to decide whether that is an insult or a compliment.  I think I'll take it as the latter.  g  Besides, my psychiatrist said I was 'mostly capable of functioning in normal society'.  So there.  *sulks*


End file.
